<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>till lies do us part by project_ecto</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176032">till lies do us part</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_ecto/pseuds/project_ecto'>project_ecto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Mr. &amp; Mrs. Smith Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempts to kill, Established Relationship, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, Making Up, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-Linear Narrative, Swearing, failing marriage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:34:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_ecto/pseuds/project_ecto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi and Oikawa are husbands. They’re also one of the top contract killers in their agencies. But Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa is a fund manager and Oikawa believes Iwaizumi runs his own boxing gym. How does that work? Through years of lying and keeping secrets of course.</p><p>Except it doesn’t work.<br/>It doesn’t work at all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>395</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't think there would be graphic depictions of violence, I'm just tagging it to be safe. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nobody said marriage was easy. Nobody said it would be this hard either.</p>
<p>No wait, they definitely said that. Oikawa was simply too helplessly in love with Iwaizumi Hajime to pay attention to the words, or the billboards dotting the roadside with big, bold warnings of “TURN BACK” and “DANGER AHEAD” as he raced down the illusive, sun-kissed highway of true love.</p>
<p>Now, as he stares down at his whiskey tumbler, amber liquid still underneath the dim bar lights, Oikawa thinks he may have crossed the speed limit, missed out on refilling the gas one too many times and isn’t even sure if he’s on the right track anymore.</p>
<p>Too distracted with his clouded thoughts and faltering heart, Oikawa doesn’t seem to hear Yachi’s voice that has almost blended with the soft music and chatter of jauntier patrons in the background.</p>
<p>“…Oikawa-san? Oikawa-san?” she calls again and it snaps him back to the present moment, eyes jumping up to look at her from across the high table. Her head is tilted and she regards him with eyebrows drawn together in mild concern. “Did you hear what I said?”</p>
<p>“Sorry, I didn’t catch it,” he says with an apologetic smile. “What did you say?”</p>
<p>Yachi presses her lips together and her gaze softens when she meets brown eyes holding a weariness that stems not from a day’s work at Aoba Johsai, an established organization of contract killers that understands the rules of the game better than anyone, because Oikawa, as one of its top agents, is rarely troubled by the demands of his work, but it’s a tiredness that runs deeper.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” she assures. She had asked if he was following the trial of the housemaid who was accused of stealing from the affluent and supposedly righteous Igarashi family, and in the process aired all their dirty laundry to be judged in the court of public opinion, but she figures Oikawa’s too bothered with matters of the heart to properly participate in such a conversation. Forgoing that topic, she asks instead, “Do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>She didn’t make that offer as a psychiatrist working in the same company who’s had Oikawa for a handful of her sessions, but as a friend, and from the looks of it, she reckons that’s what Oikawa needs right now.</p>
<p>“No,” Oikawa shakes his head. “I asked you out so that I can forget about it.”</p>
<p>He tips his head back with another swig of his whiskey, appreciating the burn down his throat, and signals for another round. Yachi watches him carefully and knows he’s only trying to convince himself. From when he invited her to drink, she had an inkling this wasn’t going to be a regular catch-up but an I-need-to-not-be-alone-while-I-mope kind of meet-up. After all, he did murmur something about not wanting to go back so early because no one’s at home anyway.</p>
<p>“Whatever it is, it seems like you can’t,” she points out, fingers settling on the cool stem of her cocktail glass. Gently, she hazards a guess, “Is it about your husband? Did you two fight again?”</p>
<p>Again? Did he grouse about his marital problems to her recently? Has it been that often? He supposes so. Things at home have reached a point where they do almost everything separately, where conversations have become stilted and even if they eat together or sleep together, there is a divide—walls so high and trenches too deep to cross he wonders how they got so bad.</p>
<p>Oikawa tries not to bring his relationship problems to the workplace, not wanting the agency to be privy to the details of his personal life so that it can’t be used against him (in his line of work, you never know), but to be honest, there isn’t anywhere else he could. And sometimes, he needs an outlet for all the bottled-up frustration. He’s grateful for Yachi, who’s practically the only person he can safely confide in.</p>
<p>“We had a…slight disagreement,” Oikawa says eventually, tongue loosened from the whiskey.</p>
<p>It had been about the new carpet he bought for the living room which he thought matched better with the colour of the furniture. There wasn’t a particular reason to change it, but Oikawa felt it was time for old things to make way for new ones.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Iwaizumi didn’t appreciate the change when Oikawa asked for his opinion. He preferred the old one—it was familiar, still clean and the colour was fine. It’s incredible how fast a conversation can turn sour from disagreements over a <em>carpet</em> and Oikawa grimaces at the silliness of it and the harshness of another gulp of whiskey.</p>
<p>“Nothing you can’t fix right?” Yachi asks.</p>
<p>Oh, it’s fixed. Iwaizumi let him have his way as usual—settled for Oikawa’s choice once again—but not before snapping, ‘why do you ask for my opinion if you’re just going to ignore it?’ and stalking away. So yes, the matter of the new carpet is done and dusted, but not the bigger problem that is their crumbling marriage.</p>
<p>“No,” Oikawa affirms, but drops a downcast gaze to his glass of melting ice. “But it’s not the only thing that needs fixing you know?”</p>
<p>“What else is there?”</p>
<p>Yachi won’t claim to know anything about marriage counselling, but from her experience, small problems are usually a by-product of a larger issue lurking below the surface and sometimes, people manage to unearth what these are after venting about them.</p>
<p>“We just—don’t talk to each other,” Oikawa lets out, clearly vexed. “I mean we do but—we’re not <em>saying</em> anything. It’s all ‘what’s for dinner?’ or ‘what time will you be back?’ or ‘who’s turn is it to do the laundry?’ And if we exchange more than a few words, we end up irritating each other or giving cold shoulders or just—fighting.”</p>
<p>It’s the symptoms that are easy to detect and Oikawa’s describing those of a relationship afflicted by lies and secrets. He would say it’s a necessary evil—letting Iwaizumi know that he’s a contract killer working for a morally ambiguous organization, and a skilled one at that, is not something he will risk, and the burden of truth is not something he is ready to shoulder.</p>
<p>And now, after years of spinning tales and shadowing truths, they’ve inadvertently created a rift—an imperceptible line etched right beneath their noses. It only grows murkier from there, never clearer. At some point, it breeds suspicion and misunderstandings and sometimes builds up frustration that rears its ugly head with hostile gazes and scathing tongues. Neither are proud of it, but they are only human. And as flawed as they are, they’ve exhausted themselves until there’s little left in them to try for each other.</p>
<p>“It didn’t use to be this way,” Oikawa finishes quietly but Yachi hears it anyway.</p>
<p>Four years.</p>
<p>Four years of enduring hardships and celebrating successes together.</p>
<p>Was four years merely all it took to tear down what he once thought was unshakeable?</p>
<p>“What changed?” Yachi follows softly with another question. “I’m not talking about the things you do, but the way you feel.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Oikawa mumbles, brows furrowed, a stark contrast to his usual, confident self. The alcohol doesn’t help at all. “I don’t know what’s going on with us anymore.”</p>
<p>Yachi offers him a sympathetic look. If he can’t gather his thoughts right in his tipsy state, perhaps something simpler could help instead. Something from freer days, something he’ll remember with startling clarity.</p>
<p>With a fond smile, she asks, “Hey, do you remember the first time you met? What was it like?”</p><hr/>
<p><strong>Four years ago<br/>
</strong> <strong>Havana, Cuba</strong></p>
<p>In retrospect, the Cuban police were rather efficient that day. It had not been ten minutes after he swiped a Cuban Revolution artifact from one of the inner chambers of the museum, the one restricted to visitors, when the guards went scrambling from the discovery of a missing piece of their history and alerted the authorities.</p>
<p>Or, he could be rusty. It was not often that he would be involved in stealth missions of this kind. He was, first and foremost, a contract killer who specialized in taking lives, not objects. Regardless, he achieved his objective of stealing an old, bronze timepiece that took a bullet for its owner, apparently a key figure in the revolution. He was told his actual target would reveal themselves once he had the timepiece in his hands for the simple fact that they wanted it too—a lure so to speak. Oikawa did not exactly fancy it when he was told to kill, but not who to kill.</p>
<p>In any case, his immediate objective was to evade the men in uniform, who had somehow narrowed down their suspects to people who were travelling alone and were beginning to round them up for questioning. How convenient. He must have slipped up, or the Cuban law enforcement was more than what they gave them credit for. He’d hate to think it was the former.</p>
<p>As he descended the grand stone staircase with haste, pretending not to hear the questions the police were hounding him with from behind, Oikawa would have admired the works of art lining the old-fashioned stonebrick walls and Cuban-themed motifs embellishing Romanesque arches if he weren’t scanning the main floor for a less conspicuous exit.</p>
<p>“Señor, ¿viaja solo? ¿Disculpe, señor?”<br/>
<em>“Sir, are you travelling alone? Excuse me, sir?”</em></p>
<p>No exit on the left. Reaching the foot of the stairs, Oikawa turned on his heel to try the other side but crashed into hardness instead.</p>
<p>It was a person—a man who seemed equally surprised to run into a fellow Asian in the luxurious main floor of a timeless museum in Havana.</p>
<p>There was a pause—only for a barest second as a fleeting thought crossed their minds—before surprise vanished from the man’s olive-green eyes and he caught Oikawa’s elbow to turn them around in a single swift motion.</p>
<p>The act confused him a little, but Oikawa noticed in his periphery three men who could only be the museum guards, judging from their attire, pushing their way through the throngs of people in a hurried search. He flitted his gaze back to the stranger in front of him and followed his line of sight towards the guards, a subtle wariness to it. Only when they passed them by did the man’s shoulders relax and Oikawa put two and two together.</p>
<p>“Señor, ¿viaja solo?” his own pursuers repeated, having caught up to him. The question yanked him back to his predicament but Oikawa, always thinking on his feet, had already thought of his next course of action.</p>
<p>If the stranger could use him as a shield from his pursuers, surely he could do the same.</p>
<p>“No,” he finally answered their incessance, looking back at his impromptu companion to see him staring right back at him. With a sharp gaze glinting in warning, Oikawa relayed one silent instruction—<em>‘play along’</em>—and added with perfect intonation topped with a breezy smile, “Estoy con él.”<br/>
<em>“I’m with him.”</em></p>
<p>But the police didn’t seem to buy it. They thought they witnessed a coincidental meeting between two strangers after all and were almost ready to apprehend Oikawa.</p>
<p>Sensing their suspicion and not wanting his cover to be lost just yet, Iwaizumi answered in fluent Spanish, Oikawa’s second surprise from a single source, “Así es. ¿Algo está mal?”<br/>
<em>“That’s right. Is something wrong?”</em></p>
<p>Oikawa was not the only one who was nonplussed, although the policemen were more so at encountering two Japanese men who could speak Spanish. Still frowning but unable to find a reason to take the brunette back for more questioning when they were evidently mistaken about his lack of companionship and when the couple had a strangely assertive aura about them, they relented.</p>
<p>“No, continuar.”<br/>
<em>“No, carry on.”</em></p>
<p>They didn’t linger in the slowly emptying main floor, securing their escape by heading to the side and slinking behind one of the arches that led to another wing of the museum. They peeked out from their hiding spot, each to check that their pursuers’ attention was indeed away from them, before tucking themselves safely behind the archway, Oikawa’s back lined up against the cool stone.</p>
<p>Now left in each other’s sudden company, they were forced to acknowledge the other’s presence and the odd incident that had occurred.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Oikawa started, looking right at the man before him—definitely Japanese from the slight recognizable accent that came with his Spanish. Only now did he let himself dwell on the passing thought he could not catch before.</p>
<p>He was handsome. Short, dark hair, sharp features, and striking green eyes that studied him with a quiet intensity and seemed to hold untold stories of their own. His skin was tanned, mostly hidden under a black bomber jacket over a white cotton tee and a pair of slate grey slim-fit trousers. There was an undertone of reservation to him, accentuated by dark brows slanted in a serious expression and framed over a smoulder in green. To be pinned under such severity felt like a challenge.</p>
<p>And because Oikawa loved to stare at danger straight in its eyes, he didn’t look away.</p>
<p>True enough, the man responded in Japanese, brow raised questioningly, “You wanna tell me why you made me lie to the Cuban police?”</p>
<p>Slipping into his usual disposition, Oikawa returned without missing a beat, “And you wanna tell me why you were being pursued by the museum’s security guards?”</p>
<p>He hadn’t realized it was that obvious since he managed to put quite a bit of distance between them. This man had a keen eye, Iwaizumi thought, impressed but he didn’t show it. Maintaining his composure, he adlibbed a lie.</p>
<p>“I knocked someone out for trying to pickpocket me. They see a solo traveller and think I’m an easy target. Though it might not have come across that way to the guards, but I’m not about to stick around to find out.”</p>
<p>In truth, he was in the midst of beating information out of the chap, not his mark but someone who could lead him to them. Kitagawa Daiichi had flown him all the way to Havana with not many leads so the moment he found one, he made sure to bleed every ounce of usefulness from it with maximum efficiency. No time to waste on trailing his targets or putting on an act to sieve out clues—he hated roundabout tactics like these—taking his challenges head-on had always worked best for him. It might get a little violent and he might come out of it with bruised knuckles or red on his hands but nothing he couldn’t live with.</p>
<p>In short, it was simply an ordinary day being in Kita Dai’s employment. It was a small organization in the industry, but that meant it had the agility to quickly adapt to unpredictability and Iwaizumi, whose skills were born and honed in the streets and never quite lost their ruggedness, was one of its most capable resources.</p>
<p>He had not finished interrogating the guy in the back of the museum before the guards chanced upon them and started giving chase, but he got a new lead with the information his victim sputtered out of bloodied lips which he would have Hanamaki investigate.</p>
<p>He only ran into Oikawa because he was looking over his shoulder to check on his pursuers and the brunette, being taller and dressed like a local in his white linen shirt and steel blue shorts, was an opportune ploy to lose the guards so Iwaizumi simply used him as such. It was, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful coincidence.</p>
<p>When Oikawa offered his own explanation, his voice was silvery with a hint of pompousness, “Seems like something went missing and they’re suspecting tourists who are travelling alone. I don’t have time to be questioned for something I know nothing of.”</p>
<p>Stolen? Iwaizumi briefly entertained the possibility that there was more to it but chose not to probe when he had no intention of disclosing further details himself.</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” he commented and supposed some appreciation was due since he did allow Iwaizumi to use him as a cover. “Thanks for helping me to lose those guards.”</p>
<p>“I barely did anything but have a couple of inches on you,” Oikawa said, a smirk on his pretty lips, and the teasing remark took Iwaizumi by surprise, though the flirtatious glimmer in caramel eyes was not unwelcomed.</p>
<p>“That’s the kind of gratitude you show to someone who just saved your precious time?” he retorted and Oikawa must have found his bluntness funny because he laughed, a blithe sound that reminded Iwaizumi of a songbird basking underneath the eternal summer sun.</p>
<p>“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help it,” he placated, still smiling, and Iwaizumi decided to call it what it was.</p>
<p>Oikawa was a beautiful sight. From his immaculately coiffed hair to the depth of his hazel eyes, prominent cheekbones and sharp jaw, it seemed to Iwaizumi that he was the subject of a deity’s artwork, shaped with reverent deliberation and painted with an Elysian palette. He possessed the kind of beauty that stopped you in your tracks and beguiled you into staying and learning what lied beneath, because the allure and charm could not possibly be all there was to him.</p>
<p>In the shadows of the archway, Iwaizumi caught the twinkle of an invitation in mysterious irises.</p>
<p>“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he introduced. “What’s your name?”</p>
<p>He contemplated on the merits of prolonging the exchange with a beautiful stranger, but the scale was already tipped and besides, what Oikawa wanted, Oikawa got.</p>
<p>“Iwaizumi Hajime.”</p>
<p>Pleased, Oikawa continued, voice like nectar, “Well Iwaizumi, as a show of my genuine gratitude, and as fellow tourists travelling alone, can I take you out?”</p>
<p>There was no telling what could unfold during a mission—it might take half or twice as long, they could lose a limb or a life—still, neither of them could have expected sitting across a serendipitous acquaintance in the patio of a bustling restaurant snuggled along the cobblestone streets of Old Havana.</p>
<p>It was night-time when they had settled for drinks here, stumbled upon while they were strolling along the narrow streets chatting about their interests and lives and things they had yet to know were the first spin of a web of lies. (Oikawa was a fund manager based in Tokyo and travelled to Havana to meet a client while Iwaizumi ran his own boxing gym, also in Tokyo, and was here to negotiate a contract with one of his suppliers. He took up a Spanish language elective in university whereas Oikawa picked it up when he lived in Argentina for three years.)</p>
<p>The restaurant was an old one. From the patio, one could see the uneven patches of paint on its façade and the overgrown vines curling around the iron balcony on the second floor. But the rustic streetlamps adorning the walls and the fact that it was hidden away from the vibrant plazas accorded it a quality of peacefulness and warmth. Besides, even in the dull orange glow from the lamps, the sunshine yellow and cerulean blue walls of the adjacent buildings were brilliant.</p>
<p>Below the string of mini Cuban flags hanging overhead was a band of live performers filling the atmosphere with spirited and lively music from an ensemble of guitars, violins, accordions, congas and bongos. It had amassed a small crowd of locals and tourists on the dance floor, which was loosely surrounded by wooden tables and cross-back chairs, where Iwaizumi and Oikawa were seated in favour of a mojito or two.</p>
<p>“So how long are you staying in Havana?” Iwaizumi asked.</p>
<p>“Just a couple more days,” Oikawa answered casually, idly stirring his straw in his almost-empty glass. Frankly, he wasn’t sure. It depended on when his mark showed themselves. He was hoping it’d be soon. “You?”</p>
<p>“I’m leaving tomorrow night,” came Iwaizumi’s reply. Sometime during dinner, Hanamaki had already tracked down his target with the lead he provided, and he intended to finish the job tomorrow.</p>
<p>“Back to Tokyo?” the brunette asked, and a nonchalant smile worked its way to his bittersweet lips. “No business deal in another part of the world or something?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m going back to Tokyo,” Iwaizumi confirmed and felt compelled to clarify, his tone half-amused, “I don’t actually travel that often.”</p>
<p>“Ah. I just thought with running your own company and what-not, you’d be very busy.”</p>
<p>Oikawa had his chin resting against a loosely curled fist, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes with apparent interest. Throughout the evening, the attraction between them was palpable, but Iwaizumi found Oikawa to be somewhat of an enigma, opinionated but hiding true sentiments in the corners of his eyes or underneath his wily tongue or in the chambers of his heart. Even now, he wasn’t certain if Oikawa was showing him sincerity or flattery.</p>
<p>It made him want to pick him apart.</p>
<p>“I am, but most things can be handled back home,” Iwaizumi said. “It’s a small gym.”</p>
<p>“Still, you’re your own boss at twenty-nine. That’s impressive.”</p>
<p>“Save your compliments for when you mean them,” he returned without hesitation and the candour, though not callous, caught Oikawa off-guard.</p>
<p>“Alright then, Iwaizumi,” he grinned, folding his arms on the table. A gleam of excitement flashed across his honey-brown eyes as he added, “They don’t come easy.”</p>
<p>“Wouldn’t want them to be.”</p>
<p>You see, Iwaizumi was used to fighting for what he wanted, be it survival or the next high-profile mission. It turned out that Oikawa’s authenticity was what he wanted now, and he wouldn’t mind working a little harder for it.</p>
<p>The music in the background had subsided to a slow tango and couples on the dance floor started drawing close and swaying to the mellow rhythm.</p>
<p>“For the record, I meant that,” Oikawa said, concluding their banter that they might find invigorating now but not four years later, before sliding his elbows off the table and asking with a tilt of his head, “Care to dance?”</p>
<p>Iwaizumi laughed through his nose shortly.</p>
<p>“I don’t dance.”</p>
<p>“<em>I</em> do,” Oikawa declared, taking his drink and downing the rest of its refreshing contents. He set the empty glass back down with a thud, offered Iwaizumi a mischievous smile and made his way towards the throng of people on the dance floor.</p>
<p>Mildly surprised that he would dance alone amongst other couples, Iwaizumi learned that Oikawa did not only have the confidence to do so, but the ulterior motive of seducing him into joining him. Because the way he moved his body to the music, sensual and purposeful, could not be anything but irresistibly captivating.</p>
<p>So it did not take long for Iwaizumi to stride over to him and fit himself against Oikawa’s lithe body, hands on his hips and Oikawa’s settled on his shoulders, close but somehow not close enough. It felt like a victory to have pulled Iwaizumi into his orbit, but perhaps there were two victors tonight, when Iwaizumi had one of the most beautiful people he’d ever met entranced by his pine green eyes and pliant under his touch.</p>
<p>Neither led nor followed, they simply flowed with the music and each other’s movements, and it came so naturally to them they wondered if they were bound in some other way but physical. It almost made Iwaizumi forget that he had a Glock 19 concealed behind his back and when Oikawa’s hands had wandered too far down his sides and over his hips, he took him by the hand and held him by his shoulder blade to whirl them around deftly, sending a rush of exhilaration through the brunette.</p>
<p>“So you can move,” Oikawa remarked teasingly.</p>
<p>“I said I don’t dance. Not that I can’t.”</p>
<p>He didn’t wait for Oikawa to answer, instead resting his palm on his trim waist and pulling closer, what little space between them already filled with bated breaths and heady gazes. It seemed to delight Oikawa, who was intoxicated with the several cocktails he had for the night and Iwaizumi’s undivided attention.</p>
<p>“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he whispered sultrily, peering at the dark-haired man through lowered lashes. “I wonder, what else are you hiding?”</p>
<p>It didn’t escape his notice that Iwaizumi’s hands were sliding down his back and dangerously close to the dagger sheathed over his belt.</p>
<p>“Want to find out?” Iwaizumi murmured, his hands brought to settle on Oikawa’s swaying hips instead. Noses almost touching, he added, “We’ve got all night.”</p>
<p>And the night was spent wisely when Iwaizumi brought Oikawa back to his hotel room and they shed their pretences to let the truth burn in lustful eyes and urgent touches. Iwaizumi knew that Oikawa was gorgeous but as he laid bare in his sheets, he was taken by the beauty of muscled lines and strong definitions. There was no doubt then, that he would take pleasure in discovering the ways he could make him sigh and moan and keel.</p>
<p>Oikawa himself did not hold back in the slightest bit, taking everything that was offered to him with eagerness and giving back in equal intensity. He splayed fingers over skin, digging them into Iwaizumi’s back hard enough to leave fierce red lines, and kissed with a sinfulness that was sure to turn cherry pink lips into bruising scarlet ones.</p>
<p>They had not moved like this before—not with so much passion, not with this much single-mindedness. With bodies pressed against each other’s, slick with sweat, they chased after the climb, the high, the waves of pleasure. Their professions might have provided adrenaline and satisfaction, but the connection that sparked between them on a fateful day in Havana was, quite literally, unrivalled.</p>
<p>In the next morning, Oikawa would find himself without a stitch on, sheets thrown over his waist haphazardly and daylight streaming through the thin curtains from the balcony to kiss the curve of his body. His sleepy eyes grew alert when he saw that the other side of the bed was empty and the events of last night played through his mind like a reel.</p>
<p>Oikawa sat up and surveyed the room but there was no sight or sound of Iwaizumi and he was ready to chalk this up to a one-night stand, albeit an unforgettable one, feeling strangely disappointed at the idea, when the door opened and the man Oikawa had been so suddenly taken with stepped through, casually dressed and carrying a tray of what must be breakfast.</p>
<p>“Morning,” he greeted, approaching Oikawa who smiled back, and set the tray on the nightstand. “My room didn’t come with breakfast so I got you something from the café downstairs.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Thank you,” Oikawa said, appreciating the thoughtful gesture and mood instantly lighter than what he woke up with. He went with the coffee, bringing it to his lips for a careful sip as Iwaizumi made his way to open the doors of the balcony, decorated with two large birds of paradise on either side and lined with other smaller potted plants, to let some fresh air in. “This is good,” he said, holding up the cup of coffee.</p>
<p>“It’s café Cubano, basically the Cuban version of espresso,” Iwaizumi told him, leaning against the opened glass door. When Oikawa picked up the newspaper that came with breakfast, Iwaizumi added, “Looks like the incident at the museum yesterday made the news.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he mused, skimming the first few paragraphs. Likely, he would be able to complete his mission today. Leaving that aside, Oikawa fiddled with the mariposa nestled in the middle of the tray, a white butterfly-shaped flower dashed with a hint of yellow in its middle. He twirled the stem with his fingers before tucking it into his hair, the petals caressing the shell of his ear.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi was already looking at him when he glanced up, a mesmerized gaze in green eyes. Oikawa gathered the sheets around him and slid off the bed, the fabric dragging over the carpet as he padded to the balcony and stood across from Iwaizumi.</p>
<p>Underneath the sunlight, Oikawa was another work of art. His chestnut-coloured hair was tousled with sleep and disarmingly perfect and the light that framed his profile made the gold in his eyes shimmer. There was mirth in how they danced and in the slight curl of his lips. Iwaizumi didn’t even register his handiwork smattered across the base of Oikawa’s neck when he was enraptured by his utter beauty, very little to do with the mariposa in his hair.</p>
<p>“<em>God, you’re beautiful.</em>”</p>
<p>Oikawa chuckled lightly, glancing away before locking eyes with Iwaizumi again.</p>
<p>“I know,” he said playfully. “Surprise me again, Iwaizumi.”</p>
<p>The other man sucked in a quiet breath.</p>
<p>“I want to see you again. In Tokyo,” he confessed.</p>
<p>“And so we will,” Oikawa promised, his heart in agreement. He straightened when Iwaizumi closed the distance between them, jaw tingling with his touch as he kissed him slow in the warmth of the Havana sun.</p>
<p>After that they would return home, each with a number, the lingering taste of a kiss, and by midnight, more blood on their hands from another job well done.</p><hr/>
<p>Iwaizumi wakes up without the help of his alarm, wondering drowsily why the fuck it’s so cold and turns on his back to realize that his dear husband had stolen the covers and is sleeping soundly wrapped in the coziness of their duvet.</p>
<p>What a lovely start to the morning.</p>
<p>He decides against initiating a tug-of-war with Oikawa for the covers and instead swings his legs out of bed to get ready for work. After finishing the necessary, which includes rummaging through Oikawa’s myriad of hair and facial products in the mirror cabinet to find his shaver, Iwaizumi heads to their walk-in wardrobe, the right side allocated to him and the other to Oikawa, to get dressed.</p>
<p>The walk-in wardrobe made of dark polished timber had been on Oikawa’s wish list and when they were fitting out their new two-storey single-family home in the private corner of a suburban Tokyo neighbourhood, bought with the sizeable income from presumably running their own company and helping clients make sound investments, it sounded like a neat idea. But Iwaizumi has thought otherwise since Oikawa invaded half his space with the number of clothes he has.</p>
<p>It’s only when he’s putting on a long-sleeve crew-neck shirt to match with his jeans that Oikawa ambles by him to use their large bathroom, yawning loudly and stretching his arms above his head. At least one of them looks well-rested.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi retrieves his Adidas duffel bag from his study before going downstairs to prepare breakfast. He’s halfway through his blueberry and banana oatmeal at the half-wall separating their kitchen and dining room by the time Oikawa is down, dressed impeccably in a white dress shirt and tapered grey pants and hair already styled.</p>
<p>“You didn’t bring your dirty clothes down again,” he points out in lieu of a greeting, stalking past Iwaizumi to toss his clothes into the hamper.</p>
<p>“And you hogged the covers again,” Iwaizumi returns evenly, not looking up from his phone. If they’re listing faults and bad habits, he can go all day.</p>
<p>Oikawa doesn’t respond but fixes his own breakfast at the Carrara marble island in the kitchen. He makes himself an avocado toast to eat at the dining table, decidedly not with Iwaizumi at the breakfast bar, and Iwaizumi washes his dishes once he’s done, the two of them maneuvering around each other in silence.</p>
<p>The Seijoh agent thought he can savour his toast in peace, iPad out and his usual news page pulled up on the screen, but he barely takes two bites when the sound of the TV from the adjacent living room disrupts his routine. It wouldn’t be as irritating if it weren’t the raucous buzzing of engines from the recent season of the Grand Prix motorcycle racing event that Iwaizumi seems to be engrossed in at the moment.</p>
<p>It’s the suddenness of the jarring sounds on an otherwise quiet morning and the lack of consideration from Iwaizumi, who is blatantly oblivious to Oikawa’s inconvenience, that makes him speak out.</p>
<p>“Excuse me. Do you mind?” he says over the noise, voice laced with annoyance.</p>
<p>“I wanna see the MotoGP feature,” Iwaizumi explains. He would have missed it if Lev didn’t text him about the special feature that spotlighted one of the Japanese riders for his outstanding performance this season.</p>
<p>“You can watch it later. I’m trying to read,” Oikawa argues and it’s the way it sounds like a direct order that grates on Iwaizumi’s nerves. It’s not even often that he wants to keep up with the competition and the one time he does, of course Oikawa has something to say about it.</p>
<p>He doesn’t bother justifying that this is a morning feature and he can’t just <em>watch it later</em>, turning to Oikawa to say with an air of finality, “You can wait five minutes.”</p>
<p>But Oikawa doesn’t wait five minutes. He takes his breakfast and iPad upstairs, away from the nuisance, and retreats to his own study until it’s time to leave for work.</p>
<p>The distinct rev of Iwaizumi’s Kawasaki Ninja a while later tells him that he’s alone and Oikawa trudges back down to his steel blue Audi A7 in the garage. He checks his mirrors, starts the engine, and pulls out of their big, expensive house and really—that’s all it is, big and expensive and just a house with none of the things that make it a home.</p><hr/>
<p>Truthfully, it boils down to a case of bad luck for Koganegawa, Kita Dai’s newest addition to the ranks, to be up against Iwaizumi in the ring today.</p>
<p>They’ve been inside the ring for scarcely a minute and Iwaizumi has already sized up the amateur, reading his tells and adapting effortlessly to combos he thinks are tricky. The blonde may be more adept at blocking, but it’s his offensive tactics that leave much to be desired.</p>
<p>On a normal day, Iwaizumi has no issue with sparring with a newbie but today—well, he’d prefer a tougher opponent, someone with quicker reflexes and more strength in their punches so that he can accord them the same treatment with zero hesitation. He must have wanted it badly, because newbie or not, Iwaizumi shows Koganegawa no mercy, dialling up his speed and packing more power in his punches as the gruelling seconds ticked.</p>
<p>There’s only so much frustration he can contain, and Iwaizumi’s always believed that one of the best forms of release is a blunt force when his knuckles meet hardness.</p>
<p>Koganegawa commits the mistake of looping his left arm and Iwaizumi instantly knows a hook is coming. He blocks it with a lift of his elbow, his arm absorbing the impact which isn’t impressive to begin with because the kid’s second mistake was not putting his weight into it. Iwaizumi immediately follows with a powerful punch to his sternum and it knocks the wind out of him, forcing out a grunt and bringing him down to a knee.</p>
<p>From his groan, Iwaizumi knows the session is over and he relaxes his stance but not the critical expression on his face. He steps towards Koganegawa, towering over the boy who has a hand pressed below his chest, and regards him unsympathetically.</p>
<p>“Your left hook is weak, rookie.”</p>
<p>Turning away, Iwaizumi tears off his gloves and strides to the corner of the ring where Hanamaki had apparently been observing from. His tall frame is leaning against the post and he greets his co-worker with a lackadaisical gaze.</p>
<p>Hanamaki tips his chin in Iwaizumi’s general direction, exchanging a water bottle for the other man’s gloves and says, “He’s just a kid. Go easy on him.”</p>
<p>Iwaizumi makes a non-committal grunt in reply and gulps down mouthfuls of water to spare himself from answering. He’ll admit that he did use a little more force than necessary and Koganegawa certainly didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his sour mood.</p>
<p>“What’s up with you today?” Hanamaki probes because Iwaizumi may be aggressive, but it’s never baseless. For him to radiate that much aggravation towards a rookie during a casual sparring session (and coupled with the fact that Iwaizumi marched into the workplace with the deepest scowl this morning), the Kita Dai analyst smelled something stewing.</p>
<p>He won’t call themselves bosom buddies, but they joined the agency in the same month and have forged an easy camaraderie between them. So he’s asking this out of concern and curiosity, although he has an inkling it’s got something to do with that elusive husband of his. It’s what is behind his recent spate of poorly concealed disgruntlement.</p>
<p>“Just needed to let off some steam,” Iwaizumi says eventually, picking up his towel and running it down his sweaty face.</p>
<p>“Bad morning?”</p>
<p>He tries to recall the last time he’s had a good one and concludes that the best ones are when it’s silent and even then, what kind of consolation is it when two people are bound only by the space they share?</p>
<p> “Something like that,” he mutters, suddenly tired, and without warning, Iwaizumi swivels to call out, “Koganegawa.”</p>
<p>The blonde, already out of the ring and shuffling towards the lockers, stiffens as he looks up at Iwaizumi, “Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Don’t loop your hook. It makes you predictable,” he starts curtly. “And put your weight into it. It’s a full body movement. Not an arm punch.”</p>
<p>Startled but recognizing his words as advice, Koganegawa nods, “O-Okay!”</p>
<p>Before Hanamaki has a chance to comment on his version of an apology for taking out his frustrations on a hapless junior, Iwaizumi asks, “So? What are you here for?”</p>
<p>As an analyst, Hanamaki is rarely in the gym. The added advantage of using a bona fide boxing gym as a cover for their operations is that it doubles up as a training ground for the field agents. For agents like Hanamaki, they’re almost always in the control room, located in a basement that doesn’t have its button on the elevator panel.</p>
<p>“Right. A new job came in. The kind you can handle in a couple of hours. It’s low priority but I thought you might be interested in taking it up,” Hanamaki tells him, hopping off the platform as Iwaizumi slips one leg through the ropes and another to join him.</p>
<p>“Who’s the mark?” he asks and leaves the morning’s tragedy in the ring.</p><hr/>
<p>The ring was where decisions were made swiftly, but there was a time when Iwaizumi would later doubt if he had made the right one.</p>
<p>Hanamaki winced when Iwaizumi took another blow to the side of his head—blocked—but his opponent, Aone, was well-known for his fatal punches.</p>
<p>It was an ordinary morning until Iwaizumi arrived at the workplace with what Hanamaki would argue was a spring in his step and an obvious shift from his usual behaviour. Something spectacular must have happened last night. It better be news that Sawamura’s team was no longer relocating to their headquarters or the like because he’d hate to share half the basement with them but when questioned, Iwaizumi simply gave him a vague answer about how he had the best night and a perfect morning.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Hanamaki was spared the details but there was no doubt it was about the guy Iwaizumi hooked up with on that assignment in Havana who he had been seeing for the past few months. And the past few months of living in a love-induced state of euphoria had culminated in a sorry excuse of an evenly matched fight that Iwaizumi was clearly too distracted for.</p>
<p>Even though he wasn’t trained to fight, Hanamaki knew a lousy match when he saw one, and right now Iwaizumi’s subpar throws and delayed blocks were embarrassing him. Aone was being too kind.</p>
<p>“You know you’ve gone off the deep end right? Like where the light doesn’t reach kind of deep,” Hanamaki said from the side of the ring, one elbow resting on the canvas as he watched with interest sustained purely by his co-worker’s unusually poor performance. “I’ve never seen you so <em>smitten</em>.”</p>
<p>The word left his mouth in distaste because this Iwaizumi was unrecognizable. This Iwaizumi was in love.</p>
<p>“What’s so different about this guy?” he was unbearably curious to know. They didn’t do committed relationships in their line of work. The agent should have known better.</p>
<p>“He’s gorgeous,” Iwaizumi answered sharply as he dodged Aone’s cross but wasn’t fast enough to counter with one of his own, even though he could’ve.</p>
<p>Hanamaki rolled his eyes, “So you’ve said countless times.”</p>
<p>“He’s smart,” Iwaizumi carried on in punctuated breaths. “And capable. And hardworking to a fault.” He jabbed at Aone but it didn’t reach because he was thinking about Oikawa instead of the distance. “He’s secretly a dork.”</p>
<p>“He’s a <em>civilian</em>,” Hanamaki stressed over the sound of Iwaizumi getting rained with punches when Aone spotted an opening in his movements and exploited it. He barely batted an eye as he continued, ignoring Iwaizumi’s grunts that interspersed his words, “If you’re serious about sticking with him, how are you gonna explain that you’re away so much because someone needs killing? Last I checked we don’t have regular hours on this job.”</p>
<p>“He’s a—fund manager!” the sentence ending in a shout when Iwaizumi finally broke out of his blocking stance and jumped away from the silver-haired heavyweight. Rolling the tension out of his shoulders, he reasoned breathlessly, “He’s gonna be as busy as I am, if not more.”</p>
<p>“And the injuries? You’re not exactly a delicate fighter,” Hanamaki said pointedly and Iwaizumi snorted.</p>
<p>“Isn’t it great that I run a boxing gym then?”</p>
<p>Iwaizumi, snared under the false impression that his façade was foolproof, reacted to Aone’s swift advance and ensuing jab, but certainly not to the sudden way he dropped low and lifted him up by the middle to slam him against the ground with a definite crash.</p>
<p>Perhaps Aone was not that kind. Iwaizumi hissed in pain, back arching off the floor as he put out a hand to signal that they were done. Hanamaki regarded him impassively now that they were eye-to-eye with the other man sprawled on his back.</p>
<p>“Iwaizumi, use your head about this,” he advised, unimpressed with his colleague’s unglamourous loss.</p>
<p>But Oikawa Tooru was brilliant and impossible and he had swept him up into a storm where the heart triumphed and thrived in the chaos. There was nowhere to run but headlong into this.</p>
<p>Besides, he <em>was</em> using his head. He was imagining a life with Oikawa, filled with all the sappy shit he never expected to want in this lifetime, complete with a comfortable house sequestered in a peaceful neighbourhood and maybe a right to call him his.</p>
<p>“I hope you know you’re putting a lot on the line for this.”</p>
<p>“Maybe, but…” Iwaizumi trailed off, dazed by the studio lights above and chest heaving as he exhaled an epiphany, “I think he’s the one.”</p>
<p>Somewhere in the hectic district of Roppongi, a similar scene was unfolding. In the firing range of Seijoh’s true headquarters (not the skyscraper they used as a front but a penthouse of an old building some ways off), a certain brunette was loading eight bullet rounds into the magazine of his semi-automatic pistol.</p>
<p>“You’re still with him?” Matsukawa Issei, one of Seijoh’s operatives and Oikawa’s few friends in the agency, asked from the lane beside when Oikawa coyly told him that he would not be joining the team for drinks tonight because he had a date.</p>
<p>The question, uttered in disbelief, immediately stole the grin from Oikawa’s face.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he answered and through the glass separating their lanes, Matsukawa caught the tiny pout pulling at the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t seem like your style to stay with one person for so long,” he pointed out and he was met with the sound of his companion racking the slide of his gun.</p>
<p>“Some habits die,” Oikawa replied cryptically and Matsukawa might even say he sounded almost pensive. He can’t be sure, with the earmuffs in the way. Oikawa was already poised in a shooting stance, pistol secured in steady hands and aimed at the paper silhouette in front.</p>
<p>“I’m shocked to be honest,” the taller man remarked coolly and raised his own gun.</p>
<p>In the next few moments, the firing range was filled with the <em>bang—bang—bang</em> of shots being fired in succession as both men focused on their targets. But Oikawa wasn’t really concentrating. He had to agree with Matsukawa’s sentiments. He was shocked too, to say the least. He could not have guessed that a chance encounter in Havana would lead to this—this version of Oikawa who was blissful and enamoured and craved to know what more he could have with Iwaizumi Hajime, and when it happened, it happened so hard and fast he never quite found his footing.</p>
<p>Once their magazines were emptied, Oikawa released it from the weapon and removed his earmuffs, Matsukawa doing the same. He picked up a lone bullet round meant for reloading and said without preamble, “He understands me.”</p>
<p>The other agent would have found it endearing if it weren’t for the fact that Oikawa seemed to be thinking with his heart instead of his head as if he missed the first day of contract killing 101.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t even know what you really do for a living,” he emphasized with his arms crossed leisurely over his chest, watching Oikawa load the round into the magazine.</p>
<p>“You don’t get it,” he shot back, darting up to look at Matsukawa but then he felt his inquiring eyes boring into his and looked away, returning to fully reload the magazine just to keep his hands busy. There was no lie to Matsukawa’s words but Oikawa confessed, “I’m me when I’m with him.”</p>
<p>He might be someone who knew more ways to kill a person than to love them, but under contract killer Tooru, he was still just Tooru.</p>
<p>“And he takes me as I am. Not without complaints of course and it’s—” Oikawa stopped, trying to give some coherent form to his messy thoughts but if he looked hard enough, he’d realize it was terribly simple. “I’d like to believe we all have a place in this world. I just think mine’s with him.”</p>
<p>He never felt like that with anyone before. Devotion never came so effortlessly before.</p>
<p>“Being with him feels…safe. And that’s kind of a rare commodity in my life,” Oikawa finished, just as the magazine was loaded and he set it down.</p>
<p>Matsukawa regarded him carefully. There was an unfamiliar softness in his hazel eyes and he knew then that this was a whole new ballgame altogether that Oikawa might not understand the rules of.</p>
<p>“But putting that aside,” he tried, which was a subtle way of telling Oikawa to take the emotions out of the picture, something they had been trained to do. “Aren’t you afraid of him finding out?”</p>
<p>If he ever did, it would be shoving an entirely different side to him underneath the spotlight, revealing cold eyes and bloody hands and all, and would it be something Oikawa’s mysterious lover could accept?</p>
<p>It seemed, however, that Oikawa was deep in a well of emotions where rationality could not reach. With misguided complacency, he said, “Our covers are airtight. Seijoh made sure of that and I’m careful.”</p>
<p>“So how long are you going to keep up the charade?”</p>
<p>“As long as I have to,” he answered flippantly. He didn’t believe that it would be forever and he didn’t want to think too far ahead; people like him lived by the day. If only there was some way to know that this would either be the single best or worst decision Oikawa ever made.</p>
<p>Matsukawa shook his head, “Are you really going to take such a huge risk for this guy?” and it made Oikawa laugh shortly.</p>
<p>“Oh the things I’d do for love,” he smiled and the slip of a dangerous word didn’t only surprise Matsukawa, who arched a brow.</p>
<p>“Love, huh.”</p>
<p>Oikawa looked down at the ground littered with shell casings, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips and admitted, “Yes Mattsun. I think I’m in love.”</p>
<p>When Matsukawa collected their target sheets later, he was intrigued to find that all of Oikawa’s shots were clustered around the right side of the silhouette’s chest, where a person’s heart would be.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to prepare dinner today. Since the little tiff they had this morning, and after releasing some of that frustration in the ring, he had time to reflect on the foolishness of it. Spouses fight, it’s normal, but Iwaizumi doesn’t want it to be a regularity. He’s tired of their stiff conversations and unfamiliar touches and it’s been too long since they last had sex; he can’t let this go on.</p>
<p>He’s not naïve to believe that everything will return to how it was before in the blink of an eye. It’ll take time but the road to making amends begins with a small step and making some of Oikawa’s favourite dishes for dinner is as good a place to start as any.</p>
<p>Transferring the golden-brown <em>karaage</em> onto a plate, Iwaizumi takes it out to the dining room just in time to see Oikawa descending the stairs, dressed in a different work attire when he thought he had gone up to change into home clothes.</p>
<p>The sight surprises him into asking, “Where are you going?” as he stands by their dinner table with a plate of piping hot <em>karaage</em> in his hands.</p>
<p>“One of my corporate clients wants to meet. Says it’s urgent. I have to go down and sort it out,” Oikawa fabricates, shrugging on a shawl collar coat as the aroma of a freshly cooked dinner draws him towards Iwaizumi. In reality, he was assigned to take out the owner of the biggest pachinko parlour in Tokyo because his competitor thought it more efficient to have the cunning bastard killed than fight for his share of the market.</p>
<p>“I just made dinner,” Iwaizumi states uselessly.</p>
<p>“You can cover it up first. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Oikawa says, popping a small piece of fried chicken into his mouth.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi runs a hand exasperatedly through his short hair, “It’ll be—”</p>
<p>“Where’s your ring?”</p>
<p>Silenced by the abrupt question, Iwaizumi brings his hand in front of him, the ring finger bare of his wedding band, and curses.</p>
<p>“Shit, I must have left it at work. I was sparring with one of the guys today,” he explains but he never takes off his ring even during training. There was a last-minute case that management instructed him to handle and he had to play the part of an eligible bachelor, so the ring had to go. He can’t believe he neglected to put it back on.</p>
<p>And Oikawa’s sharp eyes, now pinning him with a stony expression, just had to notice.</p>
<p>“Must be quite a fight,” Oikawa merely commented and Iwaizumi knows that whatever attempts to salvage the night would be futile.</p>
<p>“Tooru—”</p>
<p>“It’s fine. Don’t wait up,” he cuts him off tonelessly and turns to leave.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi is left in their spacious dining area when the door clicks shut and the house, with its clean hardwood floors and walls that extend towards a high ceiling, suddenly feels ironically suffocating. He sets the plate of <em>karaage</em> onto the table with a clatter, no longer in the mood to cook or eat.</p>
<p>Why the fuck did he forget his <em>wedding band</em> of all things? It’s the one thing they put equal importance on, having it custom-made in a store that looks like it belongs in the Showa period from an old man with steady hands but shuffling feet on a rainy day after a quiet proposal. (It’s the same shop where Iwaizumi had his <em>katana</em> specially forged for him, the one that’s displayed on their sideboard cabinet, but Oikawa doesn’t need to know that.)</p>
<p>And they never take it off, not even after the nastiest quarrels. It isn’t a piece of jewellery that they slip on and off at their own fancy, it’s a statement that said no matter what, they’ve promised to stick with each other through thick and thin—a constant reminder circled around warm skin.</p>
<p>He can only imagine what must have gone through Oikawa’s mind when he saw that Iwaizumi had removed his. Yet, he had simply regarded him with indifference, devoid of anger and disappointment and everything Iwaizumi expected him to burst out with. He wishes he did.</p>
<p>He wishes Oikawa reacted more strongly, because the opposite of love is not hate but apathy, and what hurts the most is not the flare of emotions, but the absence of it.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he swears again and digs for his phone in his pocket, dialling a familiar number. The call connects on the third ring and Iwaizumi does away with any pleasantries. “Hanamaki. Is the job you told me about this morning still open?” he demands and says after a pause, “I’ll take it.”</p>
<p>That night, Oikawa returns home an hour later than he claimed and during that time, Iwaizumi had already sorted out his own assignment. Hanamaki was right, it was an easy job and he handled it without a hitch. The brawl he encountered was completely his fault, since he didn’t bother to exercise stealth despite it being the recommended approach. But there were no regrets, and he’ll admit that the satisfying crack from slamming his mark’s face into the wall was worth it.</p>
<p>Oikawa’s mission on the other hand, proceeded more calmly but it was no less ruthless. The case file did mention that the pachinko boss had a penchant for tall, attractive brunettes, the sole reason he was assigned to this in the first place, and Oikawa had to entertain suggestive comments and fend off greedy hands running up his thigh before the sickening weasel dropped dead from the cyanide.</p>
<p>By the time Oikawa finishes his reheated dinner and joins him upstairs, Iwaizumi is in his sleepwear and flipping through a magazine in bed. They go about their nightly routine separately, the way it is in the morning and Iwaizumi’s ready to tuck himself under the covers when his phone lights up with an incoming message from Kita Dai.</p>
<p>Minutes later in their bathroom where Oikawa was diligently going through his ten-step skincare routine, he receives a message too. It’s from Seijoh.</p>
<p>Another assignment. No rest for the wicked it seems. Opening the message, they skim through the details of their next job.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em><strong>Classification: Top Secret<br/>
</strong><span class="u">Name:</span> Terushima Yuuji</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Alias:</span> The Minnow</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Gender:</span> Male</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">D.O.B:</span> 18 April 1995</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Nationality:</span> Japanese</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Height:</span> 177.2cm</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Weight:</span> 66.7kg</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Affiliations:</span> Classified</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Net Worth:</span> Classified</em><br/>
<em><span class="u">Agency’s Directive:</span> Target wanted alive</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some amazing <a href="https://twitter.com/courtofblue/status/1373986569523236864?s=20">art</a> of the morning-after scene. More beautiful art <a href="https://twitter.com/Cezzi12/status/1374100302270492673?s=20">here</a> too!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Iwaizumi and Oikawa learn that when something falls apart, it never does so prettily.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I changed a couple of details in the first chapter just to get the logistics right. Really minor and doesn’t affect the plot.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From Oikawa’s vantage point on the third level of an old, abandoned factory, he waits—military-grade binoculars in hand and a Heckler &amp; Koch sniper rifle leaning against the grimy cement on his right.</p><p>This dilapidated industrial zone miles away from the city of Amagasaki is where Seijoh has ascertained the mark will be. Oikawa was told little about the operation. Besides providing the target’s basic details, all Seijoh instructed was to capture the boy on the grounds that he holds insider information about their agency. Wanting him alive is already a clear deviation from their standard assignments but Oikawa supposes that Seijoh wishes to determine exactly what the target knows and how implicating it can be.</p><p>Deemed as a direct threat to the organization, it’s only fitting that they send one of their best, which explains Oikawa’s presence in a deserted area filled with decaying buildings and leftover construction equipment on an otherwise pleasant morning. Still, the agent has his reservations about the lack of information in the target’s dossier, in which most of the details are labelled as classified.</p><p>Terushima Yuuji is a cheeky-looking fellow and everything about his appearance, from his undercut to his multiple piercings, screamed rebellious teenager whose knee-jerk reaction to anything is “will it be fun?” but Oikawa’s learned not to pass judgements too quickly. He must have mixed with the wrong crowd to end up as Oikawa’s target.</p><p>Whatever it is, Oikawa’s expecting Terushima’s handlers to be coming in from the East to make an exchange with an interested buyer, and his objective is to make sure that the target does not change hands but is brought to Seijoh instead.</p><p>Fitting his binoculars over his sunglasses—MSBY tech—Oikawa scans the terrain before him, what’s left of the roads now steeped in sand and overgrown vegetation, and inspects the posts that will initiate a countdown to detonate a ring of explosives around the target once the sensor has been triggered. The explosion will be his window to strike.</p><p>The horizon is clear until the silhouette of a vehicle cruises into view and when Oikawa surveys the West where Terushima’s receivers are supposed to appear from, he catches the sight of a similar car in the distance—a black SUV.</p><p>Right on time.</p><p>Except he picks up another signature on his left, advancing towards the target zone way more quickly and noisily. It’s a damn rider on what Oikawa’s visuals identify as a KTM dual sport bike, revving his way across the gravelly road to reach disturbingly close to where the exchange is arranged to happen.</p><p>“Damn civilians,” Oikawa mutters irritably under his breath. Can’t they find some other desolate district to do their fancy drifting and silly stunts?</p><p>Just as he’s thinking of a plan to deal with this unexpected interference, the biker twists the KTM sharply, its back wheel drifting across the sand to strike one of Oikawa’s carefully hidden posts, sending it flying out of its anchor.</p><p>“Shit!” the curse leaves his mouth the same time Oikawa hears an automatic voice announce, <em>“Countdown initiated.”</em></p><p>He drops his binoculars for his laptop, fingers flying over the keys to stop the numbers. If the charges blow before the target’s in the zone, they’re going to turn in the opposite direction thinking the other party’s defaulting on their deal and Oikawa’s one chance to retrieve the package will be gone even before it begins.</p><p>To think he’d hit a snag just when the mark’s arriving. This is incredibly bad timing and it’s all some random idiot’s fault. He needs him gone asap.</p><p>Oikawa pulls up his binoculars again and the sight that greets him sparks a surge of irritation through his veins.</p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathes out as the random idiot, not so random anymore, given that he’s pulling out a fucking warhead of an RPG from his bag. So not a civilian—but a threat. He definitely needs him gone.</p><p>Snapping into action, Oikawa snatches his sniper rifle and lines his eye with the scope. The man, face obscured by his sleek, black helmet, seems to handle the RPG with practiced ease. Oikawa aims the cross hairs in the middle of his chest and pulls the trigger.</p><p>The shot cuts through the air with a loud bang and the intruder is knocked onto his back violently.</p><p>“<em>What the fuck!</em>” Iwaizumi cries out, dropping the unloaded RPG from the impact. Senses on high alert and chest hurting like a bitch but not bleeding out thanks to the Kevlar, he scrambles to recover his grenade, barely missing another shot by mere inches.</p><p>Whoever’s sniping him is not kidding around and when he’s being targeted so mercilessly, Iwaizumi will offer his attacker equal treatment. Shoot first, ask questions later. There’s no way he can carry on with his mission with the guy firing at him like that. Iwaizumi ducks behind a pyramid of construction pipes for cover as he hastily loads the RPG.</p><p>Despite being out of sight, the sniper takes another shot but this time he shoots out Iwaizumi’s bike tyre and he watches the vehicle topple pitifully onto the ground.</p><p>“Bastard!”</p><p>Now he’s personally offended. Screwing on the warhead, Iwaizumi hoists the explosive weapon onto his shoulder, darts out from his cover and points it directly at his assailant. He sees him beating a hasty retreat but Iwaizumi doubts he’s faster than the missile and fires it with a snarl.</p><p>The explosion puts a gaping hole in the crumbling building, debris flying in all directions. Iwaizumi’s irked that he wasted his single-use RPG meant for his mark’s handlers on an attacker he can’t even identify. And the mission is royally botched when the SUVs are suddenly swerving away, obviously deterred by the unexpected commotion and aborting the exchange.</p><p>There goes his mark.</p><p>If he can’t retrieve the target, he’ll sure as hell try to seize the guy who fucked it up. But the other man must have held a different idea, for Iwaizumi hears the rattle of an engine before he spots an open-top jeep speeding away from the scene—that asshole apparently still alive.</p><p>Dashing for his bag, he digs out a gun and aims it at the man’s back through the jeep, firing a micro tracker that secures itself onto his jacket. Iwaizumi’s not about to let him get away so easily, not when he cost him a high priority mission and seemed to be lying in wait before he even showed up.</p><p>There’s too much mystery surrounding these circumstances and Iwaizumi’s dreading the return to HQ with a failed objective to report. He curses when he realizes he has to call for an extraction with no means of transport because his dear sniper had ruined his bike.</p><p>Almost immediately after, an explosion goes off where the exchange would have happened, rocks and sand flung up yards into the air and startling Iwaizumi into ducking. He wonders if his hit managed to trigger a countdown for the detonation or if the man intentionally blew the charges remotely, somewhat of a parting gift.</p><p>Fucker.</p><hr/><p>“Your face.”</p><p>“I know,” Oikawa says, clipped.</p><p>Yahaba backs up from the curt response. He should have known better than to point out the graze across Oikawa’s cheekbone when the agent has been exceptionally careful about taking injuries to the face. But the fact that he had meant something went awry, and given the seething anger he returned to base with, Yahaba’s shocked.</p><p>“You look like you fell out of a tree and hit every branch on the way down. I assume the mission didn’t go according to plan?” Matsukawa ventures, handing Oikawa a clean cloth. He’s the only one who dares to say it, even though the whole team deduced the same when Oikawa stormed through their maximum-security doors sporting a murderous glare, his dark shirt and cargo pants covered in dirt and dust.</p><p>“Some asshole fired an RPG at me,” he grits, stalking across the penthouse office surrounded by large screens displaying profiles of wanted individuals and secret coordinates to reach his desk in the middle. He needs to find out who was in that field with him and quickly, so he’ll at least have some pertinent information to offer when management calls him about his screw-up, because he’s certain they will.</p><p>Oikawa hardly makes it to his desk when Watari approaches with a phone in his hand.</p><p>“Irihata-san’s on the line,” he informs and Oikawa exhales sharply through his nose.</p><p>That’s fast.</p><p>He arranges his expression into a neutral one despite his patent displeasure as Watari hands him the phone gingerly.</p><p>“Sir,” he greets into the receiver.</p><p>“Oikawa,” comes Irihata’s collected voice. The Seijoh chief is never riled. Old age must have waned ferocity but still kept his ability to command attention and instil trepidation. “I’ve been notified that the package is not in Seijoh’s custody. You can imagine my surprise.”</p><p>“There was another player,” Oikawa is quick to explain.</p><p>“So a spanner in the works,” Irihata says mild-manneredly. It’s not uncommon to encounter unforeseen circumstances and he needs agents who can adapt to them cleverly. “I’ll have to reiterate the importance of this assignment. The Minnow has information, and the trade of information is a dangerous one.”</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>Just how much insider crap does this guy have for his capture to be so prioritized and if there’s another party who has his eye on him too?</p><p>“We wouldn’t want the other player to be a threat to the mission,” Irihata continues and pauses, giving weight to his next words, “or risk having your identity exposed.”</p><p>Oikawa frowns. Dealing with the hindrance is one thing, but if he got ID’ed, that’s another matter altogether. The agency’s business is only as good as the identities they keep hidden and Seijoh has invested considerable resources to make sure it stays that way. Getting exposed will introduce complications he isn’t sure the organization will be willing to resolve, especially the one that involves his personal life, which is equally fatal, if not more.</p><p>He has to figure out who the mysterious biker with an RPG is and he’s hoping that reviewing the tapes from his equipment will shed some light on this.</p><p>“Forty-eight hours. After that, we step in and I can assure you, you wouldn’t want us to,” Irihata tells him soberly. “I trust you will handle it Oikawa.”</p><p>“I will,” he assures before ending the call. He ignores the way his team has been observing him cautiously throughout the exchange and pins Watari with a severe look. “Get me the tapes.”</p><hr/><p>Iwaizumi leans over the stainless steel sink in HQ’s dingy restroom to inspect the bruise in the mirror. It blooms angrily along the curve of his pecs, a sore reminder of a failed mission. He presses the purple-red mark and it aches tenderly. It’s small and will probably heal in a few days and he’s lucky to have gotten away with only this.</p><p>Straightening, Iwaizumi grabs his black shirt from the countertop and puts it on roughly, the bruise disappearing underneath the fabric. He’s still a little pissed at the disappointing outcome and frowns at the possibility that the other man at the scene could be a persistent problem if he doesn’t take care of it quickly. Top brass will want to have a word with him soon.</p><p>It comes true in the next second when Iwaizumi’s phone buzzes with an incoming call and he doesn’t bother checking who it is, just sighs and picks it up.</p><p>“Yeah,” he acknowledges and the terse voice that addresses him doesn’t surprise him at all.</p><p>“What is this I hear about the target getting away?”</p><p>Iwaizumi sweeps his gaze across the restroom to make sure the stalls are empty before replying, “I was intercepted. Someone else wants this guy too.”</p><p>“Someone else can’t have him.”</p><p>“Who is he?” he demands to know about the enigmatic target, not hiding the crispness in his tone. He’s reached the stage where he doesn’t have to. And with the peculiarity of his situation—scant information on the mark and another player in the game—Iwaizumi has a niggling feeling that something is skulking in the shadows.</p><p>“That’s classified,” the executive says coldly. “All you need to know is that you might not have a job tomorrow if he lands in the wrong hands.”</p><p>“The exchange didn’t happen,” he highlights. Whatever insider information Terushima Yuuji holds might still be contained but Iwaizumi knows it’s naivety. Even if the deal is off, it simply means there’s another host of problems to deal with.</p><p>“Yes, but now we’ve got wind that he’s been transferred to a high-security facility,” is the stoic answer. Iwaizumi can hear the Kita Dai boss breathe deeply and his following orders are spoken with gravity, “Finish the job Iwaizumi. And if someone’s in the way, get rid of them.”</p><p>A few pairs of curious eyes follow him as Iwaizumi steps out of the elevator later and strides across their clandestine basement to Hanamaki’s desk in the front. It’s an open area about the size of an indoor basketball court, no pillars or flooring, just concrete floors and grey walls and a low, dark ceiling that exposes the maze of pipes above.</p><p>The industrial ceiling lights cast pools of yellow onto the messy desks and there are LED light strips lining the bottom of the walls, but with how gunmetal grey everything else looks, the place always feels like it’s dimly lit.</p><p>“Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi calls from several paces away and the pink-haired man swivels his seat to face him, the row of servers standing in a tangle of their own wires blinking behind.</p><p>“Yo, heard you had a rough time,” Hanamaki says and notes the pull of Iwaizumi’s mouth.</p><p>“I wasn’t alone out there. Someone was already waiting,” the agent explains and adds, miffed, “He wrecked my KTM.”</p><p>It’s company property, but still.</p><p>“Do you know who? Or at least where he’s from?” Hanamaki asks. They’re not the only syndicate of contract killers in Tokyo and given the nature of the mission, it means someone else is also endangered by whatever Terushima has. And if a competitor’s in the fray, things are going to get ugly. People like them aren’t exactly the sharing type—not assignments, not agents, not information.</p><p>“I didn’t get a good look at him,” Iwaizumi admits. He had been too far away to notice anything identifiable. All he could make out was a well-built man with dark hair and a ruthless aim.</p><p>“Did <em>he</em> get a good look at <em>you</em>?” Hanamaki inquires, locking eyes with Iwaizumi, because it’s no laughing matter if he could be identified. It’s the same as slapping a bullseye in the middle of your forehead for not only the authorities, but everyone in the field and anyone you might have crossed.</p><p>“I don’t think so. My helmet was on the whole time. I might have something though,” he says, fishing out a small, black rectangular device from his pocket and setting it on Hanamaki’s desk. “I put a tracker on him. Can you follow it?”</p><p>The chair squeaks as Hanamaki sits up with interest, swiping the device to connect it to his computer.</p><p>“Yeah, gimme a sec,” he says, getting to work. Iwaizumi watches as the analyst pulls up a screen and the grids of Tokyo’s roads flicker to life on the monitor. Hanamaki keys in a couple of commands before his fingers still over the keyboard. He hums thoughtfully and says, “The signal’s lost. He might be underground or something.”</p><p>“Can we get it back?”</p><p>“It’s not dead so yeah, possibly.”</p><p>That will have to do for now. In the meantime, Iwaizumi intends to gather any morsel of data he can find on his attacker.</p><p>“Okay, keep an eye on it. Let me know if he moves,” he instructs, turning away to take his leave.</p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>He has to track him down—he’s yet to give him a proper hello after all.</p><hr/><p>The biker whizzes through the barren roads again, kicking up clouds of sand and dust in its wake, as well as Oikawa’s trigger post, before drifting to a stop and pulling out an anti-armour weapon. How primitive, Oikawa thinks.</p><p>He replays the clip, slowing it to half its speed, and watches once more.</p><p>That man is evidently a seasoned rider. The way he expertly manoeuvres the bike with a flick of his wrist and the slant of his body tell him that much. Oikawa observes him closely through the screen, hunting for anything that might give him away.</p><p>There is <em>always</em> something—a tell in a person’s movements, a distinguishable mark on their clothes or body. The clues are there, he just needs to be looking.</p><p>But Oikawa’s re-watched the tape several times already, and even though there’s something familiar in the biker’s drifting style and he feels like he should know better since his husband’s into that shit, he doesn’t know enough to pinpoint anything definitive.</p><p>The clothes he’s wearing also scarcely leave anything exposed. The matte black helmet with its tinted shield conveniently protects his identity and he’s dressed in the standard racer jacket and pants with combat boots. The only uncovered parts are the skin of his neck and his hands—both unmarred and inkless.</p><p>Oikawa zooms out of the clip and rewinds it to start from the top. He’s raked his eyes over the biker from head to toe and found nothing, so maybe that’s not the right place to look.</p><p>The KTM is an impressive bike. It’s not so uncommon that Oikawa could trace it to its owner after trawling through the database, but it’s a fine specimen nonetheless. Its sleek, lightweight body, nitro-powered engine and spoked wheels are perfect for the off-road conditions and its rider steers her with effortless agility. It seems that he has simple tastes, if the unadorned red-and-white paint job is anything to go by.</p><p>Oikawa watches him drift in slow-motion, studying the tape frame by frame, his eyes trailing down the biker’s figure and along the length of the vehicle, from its fender to its powerful engine and chrome-coloured exhaust pipe, where Oikawa freezes the tape on.</p><p>There is a foreign shape stuck onto its surface, like a sticker of some sort. Oikawa blows up the image and waits for the programme to render it more clearly. When it does—</p><p>—suddenly the world is not moving, or maybe it’s his heart.</p><p>Oikawa can count on one hand the number of times he’s been truly nullified. This trumps all of those times. The colour drains from his face, his breath is caught in his throat, and the blood has frozen in his veins.</p><p>The sight of a Godzilla sticker, with its mouth opened in a shriek and its unmistakable serrated plates, does that to him and more. How bizarre it is, that an innocent decal could be so incriminating. How absurd it is, that Iwaizumi Hajime would be done in by an innocuous interest.</p><p>Now anyone can be a Godzilla fan. It’s a national classic.</p><p>But there is only one person to whom Oikawa had said, some years ago, <em>“Why don’t you stick the Godzilla sticker on the exhaust so it looks like it’s using its atomic breath when you use nitro?”</em></p><p>Iwaizumi hadn’t done it then, because the Kawasaki Ninja wasn’t fitted with a nitro engine, but Oikawa supposes he took up his suggestion after all.</p><hr/><p>While Hanamaki is helping Kindaichi to familiarize himself with their snazzy new earpieces, the tracker’s signal beeps back to life at his desk. Whoever it’s affixed to must be meandering through the end-of-day traffic and his every movement is captured as a blinking dot gliding across the network on Hanamaki’s monitor.</p><p>Kindaichi gets the hang of his new equipment after a few rounds of demonstration and Hanamaki gives him an encouraging pat on his shoulder before getting himself some caffeine from their coffee machine, easily the most extravagant contraption Iwaizumi spent on in the base. He’s probably going to have to work overtime tonight.</p><p>Hanamaki returns to his desk with a steaming cup and settles into his swivel chair with a drawn-out sigh. He scans the various programmes and dialogue boxes scattered over his dual monitors and when his eyes land on the visual of Iwaizumi’s tracker, he does a double take.</p><p>The signal’s strong but it’s no longer moving. The neon green dot blinks idly in a single grid and if Hanamaki’s memory serves him right, it has stopped in a familiar, private corner of a suburban Tokyo neighbourhood.</p><p>Immediately, he reaches for the phone.</p><p>In the management’s office on the gym floor, Iwaizumi takes a call. His co-worker’s voice crackles through the line before he can say anything.</p><p>“Uhh, Iwaizumi? Signal’s back up,” Hanamaki tells him and the urgency that bleeds through his words makes Iwaizumi stand on edge. “It’s at your house.”</p><p>In a split second, every inch of him is fired with a need to spring into action but he is riveted to the spot. It’s as if his nightmares have come alive. And all of them involve Oikawa being in danger one way or another.</p><p>“Tooru,” he whispers, fear on his tongue.</p><hr/><p>Iwaizumi has never raced down the Tokyo roads so madly before. He doesn’t even stop at the red lights, too anxious about the safety of his husband to care if he’ll be served a traffic ticket. As he weaves through the lanes of honking cars, he makes several calls to Oikawa’s phone but nobody picks up. He shoots him a text—<em>call me if you see this</em>—but it’s left unseen.</p><p>It’s normal for Oikawa to miss his calls or reply to his messages hours later. He always seems so busy. But with this morning’s sniper in their fucking house and no news from Oikawa, Iwaizumi’s gut coils with dread.</p><p>A dozen questions flood his mind. How did he find out who he is? How did he know where he lives? Is Oikawa home yet? Is he okay?</p><p>He’s fully aware that his job not only puts him in danger but the people around him too. He <em>knows</em> that and he’s tried his hardest not to let his professional life encroach on his personal one. God knows he’s spared no effort to protect Oikawa from the perils of the trade and make sure that no one can ever use him as leverage.</p><p>Perhaps he’s run out of luck. It’s delusional to believe that he can always keep Oikawa safe anyway. That’s a luxury not granted to most in their line of work. He already deserves some credit for holding out this long. If his entanglement in the dirty world of contract killing has come to bite him in the ass now, he can only say that he should’ve seen it coming.</p><p>Even though his relationship with Oikawa has devolved to such a sorry state, he’ll be damned if Oikawa ever gets hurt because of him. He’s spilled a lot of blood in his life, most of it not his, and the gut-wrenching image of Oikawa’s blood staining his skin flashes across his mind.</p><p>Iwaizumi twists the throttle and speeds all the way home.</p><p>Minutes later, he leaves his bike in the driveway, hopping off to check his phone where Hanamaki had sent the signal to. It’s still in his house, somewhere in the far end where the kitchen is. What’s odd is that it’s stationary, has been since he got on his bike, and Iwaizumi can’t imagine why.</p><p>He spots Oikawa’s Audi in the open garage and curses. Quickening his pace, Iwaizumi quietly makes his way through their double front doors and down the hallway, hand poised over the Beretta 92FS tucked in his shoulder holster underneath his jacket. He crosses the empty living room, caught in a weird limbo between concern and relief when it’s spick and span—no signs of a struggle or worrying stains—exactly as tidy as how they had left it this morning.</p><p>There’s something coming from the kitchen. It sounds like someone’s busying around—opening drawers and setting bowls on the countertop. Nothing out of the ordinary, which is the most inexplicable thing.</p><p>Iwaizumi rounds the corner and the kitchen comes into view.</p><p>There, standing behind their Carrara marble island, is just Oikawa.</p><p>He is dressed in a long sleeve tee and joggers, back towards Iwaizumi, a picture of normalcy. The blinking green dot in Iwaizumi’s phone begs to differ.</p><p>Something shifts, like a gear slipping out of place.</p><p>“Tooru,” he calls, the name coming out in a stuttered breath.</p><p>Oikawa whirls around, and there is something <em>off</em> about his too-deliberate smile, “Hajime, you’re back. I didn’t hear you come in.”</p><p>“Are you alone?” he asks, the question uttered too abruptly to be considered unsuspecting. Oikawa holds back a furrow of his brow and keeps his answer in a light-hearted tone. If they’re on the same page here, he will not be the one to cave first.</p><p>“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>Of all the times Iwaizumi wishes the truth is otherwise, he wishes it’s otherwise now. It is hard to imagine that the man who put a sniper bullet in the middle of his chest this morning is the same man who stands before him in their kitchen. But when he throws a sidelong glance and makes out a familiar jacket tossed over the edge of their hamper, where he is certain he will find a micro chip nestled in the fabric, the truth stares at him unforgivingly in the eyes.</p><p>It is the mantra that one must never wear their heart on their sleeve—drilled into him through years of training—that forces his expression into a cool-headed one.</p><p>“Never mind,” he forces himself to say, walking further into their kitchen to join Oikawa.</p><p>“I made fried rice,” Oikawa chimes, moving to let Iwaizumi help with dinner. He pretends their little exchange isn’t unnervingly dubious and continues his charade. There are suspicions to confirm and somebody to pick apart, but he is hoping for a sliver of a chance that he could be wrong. “It’s been too long since we last ate together, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Yeah, too long,” Iwaizumi agrees vaguely, pulling out two sets of cutleries from their holder. Oikawa’s pleasant act does nothing but heighten his wariness. He needs to stand his ground—make Oikawa crack first. Coolly, he asks, “How was the thing yesterday?”</p><p>Oikawa must not have expected the question, or his mind is scrambling to conjure another lie to cover up the fictitious event. But it’s neither, because Oikawa hasn’t survived this long without good reason. Instead, it’s the flash of silver he catches beneath the flap of Iwaizumi’s jacket when he takes out the chilli oil from their condiments shelf, and it would be an insult to his name if he doesn’t know it’s gunmetal.</p><p>In that moment he confirms three things: one – the mysterious biker from the morning is right before his eyes, two – Iwaizumi knows he is the sniper back in Amagasaki, and three – his husband is out to kill him.</p><p>“Your meeting with the corporate client,” Iwaizumi adds when Oikawa hasn’t answered.</p><p>“Oh, he wanted to run by some numbers in his portfolio,” Oikawa says offhandedly as he doles out generous heaps of fried rice into each bowl. “He thought there was some,” he pauses, “double counting.”</p><p>Iwaizumi stiffens at the insinuation, darkened gaze lifting to meet Oikawa’s as they stand half-facing each other, shoulder to shoulder. His russet eyes are unreadable but the hint of recognition that flickers back is enough to tell Iwaizumi that <em>he knows</em>. Iwaizumi’s jaw ticks.</p><p>Oikawa, that asshole. Always so subtle, always so shrewd.</p><p>“Was there?” Iwaizumi plays along, baiting. This close, he can see the gold in his eyes, dulled to bronze.</p><p>“We’re still finding out.”</p><p>Oikawa makes a move past him, but Iwaizumi reaches out to grab him just above the elbow and the other man’s senses flare, ready to strike out of instinct.</p><p>“Wait,” Iwaizumi says, feeling Oikawa’s muscles tense under his grip, a natural reaction to danger. He glimpses at a specific spot on Oikawa’s cheek and asks, “How’d you get this?” voice dropping low, and releases Oikawa’s arm to cradle his face instead, calloused fingers bracketing his jaw and thumb settling on his cheek.</p><p>The brunette offers no reply but holds his hardened gaze. He knows he’s backed into a corner but stays defiant. His only reaction is a wince he can’t help when Iwaizumi rubs a thumb over his cheek, purposefully slow, smearing the make-up to reveal a graze beneath.</p><p>Is the concealer too thin? Or is Iwaizumi simply that sharp? Regardless, he is cornered, but it doesn’t mean he’s disadvantaged.</p><p>Iwaizumi takes a calculated guess, “Scuffle at work?”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>And so the curtain falls. It turns out that everything around them has already crumbled to pieces and it’s just Iwaizumi and Oikawa standing in the rubble, their lies laid bare.</p><p>He’s never been closer to the truth, but Oikawa feels further than he ever has.</p><p>Iwaizumi’s hand falls away and it takes him a while to find his voice again.</p><p>“Tooru, is there something you’re not telling me?”</p><p>“I’ll answer that question if you answer it first.”</p><p>In that few excruciating seconds, there are no words exchanged between them, and it is so quiet they can almost hear the blood in their ears, but sometimes the silence says the loudest words and this is the most they have said to each other in recent days.</p><p>The silence is broken when the doorbell rings. The jarring sound is precisely what they need for the cogs in their minds to shift gears and think of a way to deal with this predicament.</p><p>“Can you get it?” Oikawa requests innocently enough. When Iwaizumi hesitates, scepticism written across his features, he puts in a little more genuineness. “Please? Tell them we’re busy. I think we need to talk.”</p><p>Begrudgingly, Iwaizumi complies. He regards Oikawa cautiously before fully turning away to head to their front door and tell whoever it is to fuck off. Maybe the two of them can have civil discussion about this. There’s enough violence in their lives, no need to bring it into their marriage, right?</p><p>The moment Iwaizumi is out of sight, Oikawa makes a beeline for the hamper, where he caught Iwaizumi glancing at before. He snatches the jacket and pats it down hurriedly, eventually finding a tiny, black chip hiding discreetly in its collar.</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Berating himself for being so careless to believe that he had cleanly gotten away, Oikawa tosses the offending jacket away and plans his next course of action. Firstly, he needs to get out of here. He’s only armed with a Ka-Bar fixed blade, another stupid mistake since Iwaizumi has a fucking Beretta concealed in his clothes, and there’s no time for him to reach the firearms he stashed in the house. Secondly, well—this is as far as he got. He’s still reeling from the revelation that his husband is a killer who almost painted the dirty concrete walls with his insides hours ago.</p><p>When Iwaizumi returns, foolishly expecting Oikawa to be there and discovering that he’s nowhere to be seen, he blames his naivety for belatedly realizing that he had used the disturbance to make his escape, probably withdrawing now so that he can get an upper hand the next time they meet.</p><p>If he lets that happen, the next time they meet could very well be someone’s funeral.</p><p>“That sneaky little shit!”</p><p>His hand immediately goes for the gun, pulling it out of its holster as he treads out of their kitchen in search for Oikawa. Iwaizumi barely takes a few steps before the roar of an engine steals his attention and he bolts out of the house in time to see the Audi peeling out of the garage.</p><p>He clicks his tongue irritably and runs to his Kawasaki to give chase but his keen eyes zero in on the punctures in his tyres. The bike stands uselessly on its flattened wheels and Iwaizumi lets out an aggravated yell. What is up with Oikawa and tyres?!</p><p>Jerking up to follow the direction of Oikawa’s speeding car, Iwaizumi has the sense to swipe a silencer from the storage space under the seat before taking off in a different route, sprinting through his neighbours’ yards and leaping over hedges. Blazing through an immaculately mowed lawn, he sees Oikawa swerving into the street before him and bounds over a picket fence to intercept. But in his haste, Iwaizumi doesn’t manage to clear its height and crashes into it instead, his leg smashing a hole through the boards.</p><p>The Beretta goes off in his hand with a muted sound and a 9mm bullet pierces through the Audi’s windshield, lodging itself in the backseat’s leather cushion. Oikawa screeches to a halt, the car lurching from the suddenness, and he gapes at the bullet hole in his windshield, face twisting in disbelief and rage.</p><p>Did he just fucking <em>shoot at him</em>?</p><p>Iwaizumi disentangles himself from the fence and dashes out to the street. He blocks Oikawa’s path and puts up his hands in a show of truce.</p><p>“Wait!” he mouths, trying to explain that it’s an <em>accident</em> but Oikawa is revving the engine, any chance of civility wiped clean from his furious eyes. With that one shot, Iwaizumi just started an all-out war.</p><p>And if he won’t move, Oikawa will.</p><p>He stomps on the accelerator, Iwaizumi’s widened eyes and opened mouth the last thing he sees before he runs him over. There’s a loud thud as his body crashes into the windshield and rolls over the roof of the car. But Iwaizumi doesn’t fall entirely off the moving vehicle, having gripped the side for purchase and splayed out on top of the Audi as Oikawa tears down the street.</p><p>His knuckles go white around the steering wheel and the incessant banging on his window with the butt of the gun vexes him further. Iwaizumi’s face pops down and Oikawa can hear his muffled shout through the glass, “Stop the car!”</p><p>Oikawa accelerates spitefully.</p><p>He’s almost about to step on the brakes to send Iwaizumi hurtling off his car but the other man puts a bullet through his back window and swings into the backseat through the broken glass.</p><p>“Tooru! Stop the fucking car!”</p><p>“Argh!!!”</p><p>Without warning, Oikawa flings open the door and throws himself out, his body tumbling painfully across the asphalt with the motion. He catches Iwaizumi’s shocked glare in the rear window before the car rams through a railing and pitches off the hill, disappearing into the forested area below.</p><p>There’s a distinct crash of metal and then nothing else.</p><p>Oikawa picks himself off the ground and brushes dirt from his soiled clothes, heaving a sigh.</p><p>This is the worst night of his life.</p><hr/><p>The penthouse office in Roppongi finds itself an unlikely occupant for the night, who makes himself comfortable on his makeshift bed by slapping the armrest of the leather couch noisily and kicking the scratchy blanket to cover his long legs.</p><p>“You good?” Matsukawa asks from the door as he watches his scowling co-worker. He has one hand on the metal door handle, about to leave after sitting through a very passionate rant involving Oikawa and his estranged husband who turns out is the RPG-wielding man from the morning.</p><p>Needless to say, it was…intense. Not to mention bizarre.</p><p>“I’ll be fine,” Oikawa says curtly, still simmering in the frustration that has yet to abate.</p><p>Matsukawa sympathizes. He really does. What are the odds of this happening? Someone up there must have been waiting to serve Oikawa the biggest ‘fuck you’.</p><p>“Rest up,” he says. “Tomorrow will be a busy day.”</p><p>When he leaves and Oikawa is alone, he tries to sleep but it’s a futile effort when the voice in his head is relentless. It admonishes him for overlooking such an earth-shattering detail. How could he have been so dense not to realize that his husband is a professional killer? The so-called business trips? Excuses to get out of their dates at the weirdest times? The injuries???</p><p>He must have been blind.</p><p>And his heart is so heavy as the truth behind Iwaizumi’s actions throughout their relationship crashes down on him. He’s not hurt—no, this is not as inane as that. And he had been doing the same thing to Iwaizumi too anyway. It’s the reality of what needs to be done from here on out that forces him into a dilemma.</p><p><em>“I just found out my husband is also a killer and my agency wants him dead,”</em> the notion plagues his mind mockingly.</p><p>An hour ago, he was preoccupied with trying not to be murdered by his killer husband but now that he’s granted temporary respite, Oikawa tries to piece together a fractured picture.</p><p>Oikawa doesn’t want to kill Iwaizumi. But then again, it’s not as if he loves him anymore if the tragic state of their marriage is evidence enough. Besides, as a contract killer, he’s never meant to harbour these sorts of attachments in the first place. It complicates matters, messes with his mind, and stirs up chaos inside his ribcage and now he is bearing the consequences he could have avoided if he had walked away in Havana, if he hadn’t stayed over all those times in Iwaizumi’s apartment, if he had said ‘no’ on that quiet day in the heart of Tokyo.</p><p>But he didn’t. And they are here now. And Iwaizumi had shot at him.</p><p>He had pulled the trigger fully aware of who was in front of the muzzle.</p><p>Since Iwaizumi had treated this like a job, it would only make sense for him to emulate his actions. No more feelings and all that childish shit. Look where that got him.</p><p>Matsukawa is right. Tomorrow will be a busy day indeed.</p><p>Burrowing his good cheek into the leather and willing himself to fall asleep, Oikawa repeats under his breath, a reminder to quell his treacherous heart, “He fucking shot at me.”</p><hr/><p>“He fucking ran me over.”</p><p>“I’m gonna be honest with you. I had my reservations about your marriage, but…” Hanamaki trails off as he surveys Iwaizumi’s dishevelled appearance—unruly hair and tears in his clothes—before saying candidly, “nothing like this. It’s fucked up.”</p><p>Finding out that your own husband is a contract killer who tried to kill you? Sounds like something someone picked up from the cutting room floor.</p><p>“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says sarcastically and pulls open the tab of the Asahi beer with a vengeful pop.</p><p>From across, Hanamaki watches him take angry gulps of the cheap beer, Iwaizumi’s unexpected presence in the modest kitchen of his studio apartment the most bizarre thing of the evening, and he has some pretty odd neighbours. There’s not much to say; he’s never been one to provide solace, especially not to unshakeable Iwaizumi, who’s trying to put up a façade of being so, but it doesn’t quite mask the troubled expression on his face.</p><p>“Hey. It was a shit marriage anyway right?” Hanamaki points out. “You were miserable.”</p><p>Iwaizumi sets the almost-finished beer on the table and doesn’t look at Hanamaki when he says, “Yeah…”</p><p>There are irrefutable truths. Like the fact that it <em>was</em> a shit marriage. They drifted apart and they stopped trying and everything became so…stagnant. But then there are ambiguous ones. The one where Iwaizumi has to search through the turmoil in his heart to realize that he’s never hated Oikawa or fell out of love with him—he’s just frustrated that they didn’t work out.</p><p>“So what are you gonna do?” Hanamaki predictably asks.</p><p>Everything’s in disarray it makes it hard for Iwaizumi to know what’s the right thing to do. So he falls back on familiarity, on something he’s been groomed to do since the day he was thrown onto the streets to fend for himself. He thinks in objectives, not with sentimentality. It’s the only thing that makes sense now.</p><p>“My job.”</p><p>It surprises Hanamaki to ask, “You’re still going after the mark?”</p><p>“Not with him in the picture,” Iwaizumi frowns. “I need to take care of him first.”</p><p>“How do you plan on doing that?”</p><p>First things first, “I’ll find him,” the agent says solemnly. “Somehow.”</p><p>They need to talk. Not only about how they’ve been given the same hit, but about more…private matters. Kita Dai wants the mark badly enough to order him to dispose of anyone who gets in the way but maybe they can cut a deal. Maybe this doesn’t have to end in blood.</p><p>He’s not hopeful about the prospect.</p><p>“What if he finds you first?”</p><p>Iwaizumi hates that it’s entirely possible. He’d like to think that despite being kept in the dark about Oikawa’s true profession, he still knows him. That would mean he knows how cleverly his mind works, how crafty he can be, so it’ll do him well not to underestimate him.</p><p>“Clear out the base,” Iwaizumi orders, voice stern. If Oikawa was serious enough to run him over with his goddamn car and zero hesitation, he doesn’t want to imagine what else he’ll resort to. The boxing gym will be the first place he investigates and while there’s no easy way to access their underground base, Iwaizumi won’t take any chances. “I don’t want any unnecessary casualties.”</p><p>“Roger that,” Hanamaki nods, already getting up and tapping on his phone to set the procedures in motion. By dawn, there will be no trace of Kita Dai in and below the building.</p><p>“Hanamaki,” Iwaizumi says before the other man leaves the kitchen, causing him to turn back quizzically at the sombre change in his voice, like Iwaizumi’s made a decision but it cost him too much to arrive at it. “Thanks. I’ll get out of here tomorrow and I’ll handle this myself.”</p><p>The analyst arches a brow.</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>A curt nod and a simple answer are all that’s offered.</p><p>“It’s my problem to solve.”</p><p>Hanamaki respects that. This is not just business anymore. It’s personal. He gives Iwaizumi some time alone, believing the man needs it, after all the crazy shit he’s been through since the sun came up.</p><p>Iwaizumi sits at the kitchen table alone, shoulders heavy but not worse than the weight in his chest. It’ll probably handicap him not to rely on Kita Dai’s resources, but he thinks it’s wiser. This is between him and Oikawa before it is about Kita Dai’s and Seijoh’s rivalry. He doesn’t want the agency involved and make this more convoluted than it is. He has his own supplies. They’ll suffice.</p><p>If he can’t wrap this up within his own means, then perhaps defeat is only fitting. He tells himself he has his pride, but really, it has always been about Oikawa and when the chips are down, he wonders if he will offer his heart to Oikawa for the taking, like he’s done before.</p><p>He wonders also, that if he had caught all the clues, would things have ended up this way?</p><hr/><p>Should Iwaizumi sieve through his memories, he would realize that one of the biggest clues presented itself in the early days of their relationship.</p><p>Oikawa had wanted to visit Iwaizumi at the gym. It was a quieter day at the agency and he’d never stepped foot into his gym despite dating for over a month now. He was curious to see his boyfriend at his workplace. Iwaizumi told him that he also did a bit of teaching and regularly sparred with the other instructors and more experienced students.</p><p>Iwaizumi on the other hand, wasn’t too keen on letting Oikawa visit. He didn’t want to risk having the other agents know how Oikawa looked like, but he figured if it were late enough, most of them would be in the basement anyway so he allowed it. Thank god the place resembled an actual boxing gym.</p><p>Oikawa didn’t get to see Iwaizumi in action when he arrived, and the floor was already empty, with most of the lights switched off save for the ones above one of the rings, but he did get a mini tour that ended with them in the ring because Iwaizumi (who Oikawa suspected wanted to feed his ego) thought it’d be interesting to show him a few moves.</p><p>“Sure Iwa-chan,” he said sportingly, the nickname rolling off his tongue as naturally as he had thought of it. He folded up his shirt sleeves above his elbow and removed his dress shoes to enter the ring.</p><p>Iwaizumi started to give him a rundown on the basics of the sport—about the stance, simple footwork, how to throw punches and how to block—all of which Oikawa already knew of course. But he listened with interest, occasionally imitating the actions with false uncertainty.</p><p>Soon, Iwaizumi was telling him to try and land a few punches on him and Oikawa obliged, hiding his amusement at committing rookie mistakes, like leaving his side open for a counter or focusing too much on his upper body movements. None the wiser, Iwaizumi took these as opportunities to correct his faults, easing him into the correct position by guiding his shoulders, elbows, and hips. Oikawa gleefully let him do so, his hands rough and warm, and vaguely hoped that he wasn’t as touchy with his students.</p><p>They were in the middle of a pseudo-spar when a strip of light ran along a shadowy corner of the gym floor that led to the locker rooms, stealing Oikawa’s attention for a split second. Iwaizumi caught the break in his line of sight and decided to exploit it.</p><p>“Eyes on me,” he commanded, throwing out a jab at Oikawa’s right.</p><p>Oikawa noticed the movement from the corner of his eye. Immediately, his hand flew out to catch Iwaizumi’s wrist, twisting it so quickly that it forced the other man to bend a knee. Driven purely by instinct, Oikawa swept at Iwaizumi’s leg to take him down, his back meeting the canvas with a loud crash.</p><p>Iwaizumi took a second to recover from the suddenness and found himself unmovable, his wrist held firmly in Oikawa’s grip and Oikawa’s weight pinned to his hips. His eyes were focused on the clenched fist hovering threateningly above his face, Oikawa’s knuckles perfect and painful if they were to collide with Iwaizumi’s jaw. He slid his startled gaze back to Oikawa’s russet eyes.</p><p>“Where did you learn how to do that?” he asked with intrigue as Oikawa dropped his hand and let go of his wrist.</p><p>Still straddled over Iwaizumi’s hips, the brunette shrugged.</p><p>“May have taken one or two self-defence classes before,” he lied through his teeth. He settled himself more comfortably on top of Iwaizumi, hoping it would distract him from the strangeness of his slick reaction when he’d been bumbling about earlier.</p><p>Fortunately, Iwaizumi didn’t suspect a thing. Instead, he smirked up at Oikawa, thoroughly impressed.</p><p>“And you say I’m the one who’s full of surprises,” he quipped, an ode to their conversation on a beautiful Havana night.</p><p>Offering a playful smile of his own, Oikawa grinded down on Iwaizumi’s hips with the slightest pressure and rested his palms on his chest to lean over. He hummed delightfully when Iwaizumi’s hands reached up to grasp his waist.</p><p>“I like knocking you off your feet Iwa-chan,” he murmured against his lips. “I realize I’m quite good at that.”</p><p>“Sure are,” Iwaizumi grinned before meeting Oikawa’s mouth in a kiss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some jobs are tougher for liars and lovers one and the same.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Mentions of cheating (vague), blasphemous content</p><p>fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet<br/>talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth<br/><i>teeth, calm, 5sos.</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s a brand-new day of trying to kill your husband. Oikawa’s doing exactly that in his penthouse office on a crisp morning after a few hours of fitful sleep.</p><p>Changed into a grey fitting shirt and black tactical cargo pants, Oikawa grabs the top of his leather swivel chair as he stands behind it, a look of concentration on his serious features as he speaks through the headset to Kunimi, who he had sent to scout Iwaizumi’s workplace.</p><p>“How does it look?”</p><p>“Cleaned,” Kunimi answers succinctly. “Looks like they took everything and left.”</p><p>Oikawa clicks his tongue tetchily. He even told Kunimi not to only scour the entire gym floor but to keep his eyes peeled for any signs of a covert base. The junior operative uncovered it, broke through the one layer of security that Kita Dai didn’t deactivate, only to stand within the four grey walls of an empty space, wires unplugged and desks cleaned out.</p><p>He’s one step behind Iwaizumi and that pisses him off.</p><p>“Return to base. I doubt there’s anything worth finding there,” Oikawa instructs and Kunimi makes a sound of affirmation. Addressing the rest of his team, Oikawa gives out his next order with grave intent, “Check the phone taps, credit cards, surveillance tapes. Find him.”</p><p>At their stations, Matsukawa and Yahaba nod wordlessly but before either of them can get to work, Watari’s voice cuts in from the side, sounding mildly concerned.</p><p>“Oikawa-san. I don’t think that’s necessary anymore,” he says. “I found him.”</p><p>Oikawa narrows his eyes menacingly.</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“Here,” Watari states, wheeling away from his computer to reveal the flashing red words informing them of an <em>“Intruder Alert”</em>. He turns back to speedily type a few commands into the system so he doesn’t catch the flicker of irritation in Oikawa’s gaze. “I’m running a scan now to determine his exact location.”</p><p>The programme sweeps through each level of the building from the bottom up and Oikawa watches the visuals on the screen that hangs from the ceiling, jaw clenched as it searches the floors for any breaches.</p><p>Iwaizumi works fast, Oikawa will give him that. He has no trouble imagining that he’s an expert in his field if all these years he had survived the demands of the trade <em>and</em> managed to keep it from him. But Oikawa’s equally skilled and given all the battles he’s had with Iwaizumi in their years of tolerating each other, he’s prepared to go to war.</p><p>Just as Watari’s programme deems another sector of the building clear, the phone on Oikawa’s desk rings and all eyes turn towards it. The brunette inhales sharply. If Iwaizumi tracked him down to this place, it’s not surprising that he’d know how to contact him. He’s probably using a burner phone, so he can’t do the same. He’ll have to wait for the programme to smoke him out.</p><p>Oikawa picks up the call with a jab of the button, voice dripping with honey and mockery when he answers first, “Hello Hajime. Please tell me you didn’t think you could infiltrate without getting caught.”</p><p>Somewhere in the vents of the skyscraper, Iwaizumi’s vein twitches at the deliberate sneer and finds himself provoked into returning a taunt of his own, “No, but for a spy, you’re surprisingly easy to track down.”</p><p>All he had to do was trace the tracker’s signal back to its starting point and execute a simple process of elimination to pinpoint the location of Oikawa’s base of operations. Honestly, Iwaizumi thought Oikawa was sloppier than he was resourceful.</p><p>“And you’re quick to clean up after yourself,” the Seijoh agent retorts sarcastically, and then decides to criticize Iwaizumi’s more personal habits, or lack thereof. “Especially since you know, you hardly do that at home.”</p><p>From the screen above, a robotic voice announces, <em>“Sector D clear.”</em></p><p>Iwaizumi continues crawling through the metallic shaft on his elbows and knees and ignores the jibe to fire back, “Cut the crap, Tooru. We got ourselves into this mess. We have to fix it.”</p><p>“I think you and I both know how it goes. Either one of us gives up or we fight it out and see who’s left standing,” he glares at the phone as if his piercing gaze could reach the person on the other end. “And I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>
  <em>“Sector E clear.”</em>
</p><p>“Neither am I,” Iwaizumi answers tersely, unwilling to back down from Oikawa’s obstinacy. He glances down at his communicator, his location represented by a bright yellow dot on the matrix and estimates the distance to his destination. Almost there.</p><p>“Then there’s nothing for us to talk about,” Oikawa declares as the computerized voice finally announces, <em>“Intruder detected.”</em></p><p>A section of the building’s 3D model lights up in red on the screen, too close to where they are, and Oikawa curses. There isn’t time to block or jam Iwaizumi’s signal to re-route him. He finds himself cornered again and he hates that it’s by Iwaizumi’s doing—again. Thinking quickly, Oikawa instructs with finality, “Execute evacuation plan.”</p><p>Without being told twice, the other agents swing back into action, activating clean-up procedures on the PCs and throwing hardcopies into the furnace meant to destroy evidence and for this exact purpose. Never thought that’d happen in <em>his</em> base.</p><p>“Dammit Tooru, we can work something out,” Iwaizumi bites back, frustrated with Oikawa’s uncompromising attitude towards their predicament. But he’s beginning to feel that they’re about to reach a stalemate, because it’s Oikawa, who always gets his way, and Iwaizumi, who’s tired of giving everything away.</p><p>For some reason, the suggestion pulls out a derisive scoff from Oikawa’s lips.</p><p>“That’s what you always think,” he says scornfully, Iwaizumi’s belief that they can <em>work something out</em> so absurd that he lets himself be carried away by the exasperation while his teammates are preparing to zip wire their way out of the broken floor-to-ceiling glass windows to the building across. Determined to let Iwaizumi know that the only thing emptier than his side of the bed when he sleeps alone is his words, Oikawa spits, “Do you know how often you say that but everything’s still the same? Maybe you were lying then, and I was dumb enough to believe you. But even if you’re not lying now, I’m definitely not that naïve to believe it’s going to be that simple.”</p><p>He has more to say, because he’s left too much unsaid all this time and they’re threatening to burst out of his chest, but he’s reeled to the present by two gunshots from above, the opening of a vent flying out of its hinges to allow a dark-haired intruder dropping into his office.</p><p>“Shit!” Oikawa swears and immediately takes cover behind his desk. Before him, he notices that Matsukawa, Yahaba and Watari have already escaped and that his own zip wire gun has been prepared, its muzzle pointing out of the shattered window—waiting.</p><p>This is why emotions don’t do well in the field.</p><p>“Hiding now?” Iwaizumi taunts as he unclips the wire from his waist with one hand, the other aiming his Beretta at the seemingly empty penthouse. “You sounded like you had a lot to say.”</p><p>Oikawa grits his teeth. Iwa-chan always knows how to push his buttons.</p><p>“You should just give up! You won’t survive this!” he shouts from his spot, glad for the rush of the wind from being so high up that masks his location. If he uses the furniture for cover, he can make it out. Before Iwaizumi reaches any closer, Oikawa darts out from behind the desk, keeping his stance low as he whizzes to the next one.</p><p>Iwaizumi catches the movement like a hawk and his body reacts instantly, firing thrice at Oikawa’s elusive figure but missing all of them. They etch bullet holes in the porcelain floor instead.</p><p>“I’ve been through worse. I’m married to you for three years after all,” he retorts, inching closer to where he knows Oikawa is hiding. He takes his time. If Oikawa wants to play a cat-and-mouse game, he’ll oblige.</p><p>“Yeah, well, living with a brute for a husband can change a person!” Oikawa’s acerbic voice drifts from somewhere further in the room.</p><p>“Sure, put it on me, it’s what you do best isn’t it? Blame others for your mistakes?” Iwaizumi snaps sarcastically, gripping the gun with both hands and lining its sight at the desk that shields Oikawa. He’s had enough of feeling like he’s the only culpable one when in fact it takes two hands to clap, and now that he has a target to go with the weapon in his hands, he won’t hesitate to share the wound. Iwaizumi’s mouth curls into a snarl as he unleashes one scathing word after another with every stride and every pull of the trigger, “Because you’re always right—<em>bang</em>—always stubborn—<em>bang</em>—always such a self-centred prick!”</p><p>The last shot blasts off the edge of the desk. Iwaizumi swiftly rounds the corner and expects to have Oikawa at gunpoint but the space is empty.</p><p>“You’re not faultless too!” Oikawa yells from somewhere to Iwaizumi’s right, having snuck nearer to his means of escape, and Iwaizumi fires his gun at the general direction with an irritated growl. From behind his new hiding spot, a thick pillar that narrowly obscures his frame, Oikawa refuses to take Iwaizumi’s words lying down, “You’re rude, and insensitive and—…and you’re fucked in the head!”</p><p>Not his most eloquent insult but Oikawa’s preoccupied with more pressing matters and he exploits the outburst to rush into the open, hurling a marble paperweight that he stole from one of the desks at Iwaizumi.</p><p>The incoming heavy object serves its purpose when Iwaizumi ducks to avoid catching it with his temple. By the time he recovers and aims his gun again, Oikawa is at the open window, arms raised to grasp the handle of the zip wire gun, his hair tousled by the wind, and holding the deadliest glare in russet eyes, almost aglow with the morning sunlight.</p><p>In that moment, Iwaizumi is struck with a familiar thought.</p><p>Oikawa is beautiful.</p><p>Maddeningly.</p><p>Immutably.</p><p>His finger wavers against the trigger.</p><p>Oikawa appears to have noticed his ambivalence and he is certain that this round goes to him. He scoffs at Iwaizumi, unimpressed at the supposedly top agent for giving up a clean shot. He’ll never let him have this chance again. Not wasting another second, Oikawa pushes a button on the handle and it takes him into the wind.</p><p>Iwaizumi bolts to the verge of the floor only to see Oikawa’s figure dozens of storeys up in the sky, getting smaller and smaller as he zip-lines to the opposite building. He watches the consequences of his hesitation as Oikawa releases himself and drops onto the ledge of the building’s roof flawlessly.</p><p>He had a clean shot.</p><p>He didn’t take it.</p><p>Why didn’t he take it?</p><p>“Maybe I am fucked in the head!” Iwaizumi hollers, the wind carrying his voice to Oikawa who whirls back to face him. “I had to put up with <em>you</em>!”</p><p>At this distance, Iwaizumi can’t see his face clearly, but Oikawa’s contempt reaches him perfectly, “You can’t handle me Iwaizumi Hajime! Not as your husband, not as your rival!”</p><p>Iwaizumi grips the edge of the window until his knuckles grow white, his body leaning dangerously far out.</p><p>“YOU’RE NOT WORTH IT!”</p><p>“AND YOU’RE A WASTE OF MY FOUR YEARS!”</p><hr/><p>Oikawa returns to the house next. If they had been keeping secrets from each other this whole time, surely they’d be hiding them in the comfort of their own home—right under their noses. They wouldn’t be in plain sight, that goes without saying, so Oikawa gets busy with turning the entire house inside out, upending their belongings and inspecting every nook and cranny and zeroing in on anything that so much as looks out of place, leaving no stone unturned.</p><p>It doesn’t take him long to hit the jackpot. He finds it in Iwaizumi’s study, a simple room where he purportedly runs his imaginary business with a punching bag that Oikawa now realizes is for show hanging in a corner. Heading for the shelf that lines the far end of the room behind his desk, filled with too many books on business management, martial arts and physical conditioning that he’s never seen Iwaizumi read, Oikawa runs his hands along its corners and undersides until something clicks.</p><p>Oikawa steps back as a section of the shelf sinks backwards and slides away to reveal a black metal door, a single number pad affixed to where a handle should be. He always thought the room seemed smaller than it actually looked and chalked it up to the dark finish of the walls. So this is why.</p><p>The number pad doesn’t faze him one bit. Feeling quite confident, he keys in the six digits of their wedding date but the buzzing sound it makes tells Oikawa that it’s wrong. Iwaizumi can be rather sentimental sometimes, but maybe not when he’s hiding his probably illegal stash behind a secret door. He punches in Iwaizumi’s birthday next, just to cover all bases, but that turns up incorrect as well. At his third attempt, a quiet dread creeps up his spine as his finger pushes the buttons for his own birthday—<em>0-7-2-0-9-4</em>—and when he’s met with a clear beep and an electronic click before the metal door swings open, Oikawa can’t exactly explain why it unsettles him.</p><p>(It is too easy, but perhaps it is because Iwaizumi never expected his own husband to break into it.)</p><p>The dim lights flicker on automatically and the room whirs to life as Oikawa enters. He’s enclosed within grey walls and the strips of fluorescent lights along the ceiling accord the room a bluish tint. His measured gaze sweeps the room from one side to the other and what he is greeted with is nothing he expects from the Iwaizumi he thought he knew and everything he would expect from the Iwaizumi he’s recently come to know.</p><p>Directly facing him is a gun rack displaying firearms of various makes and sizes, from handguns to rifles to shotguns and SMGs. The array is imposing, but Oikawa must admit, the tiered sword rack mounted on the wall to his left is even more so. Starting from the longest, the <em>tachi</em> rests at the top, followed by the <em>katana</em>, then the <em>wakizashi</em> and finally the <em>tanto</em>. Oikawa has trouble deciding if he should be impressed or afraid that Iwaizumi is familiar with the way of the sword.</p><p>On his right, there’s an old workbench that he presumes Iwaizumi uses for upkeep and upgrades and in the corner adjacent to it is a safe—likely where he stores wads of cash, several passports and encrypted phones. A glass-top table stands in the middle of the room and upon closer inspection, Oikawa sees an assemblage of more weapons and tools sitting atop a velvet bedding. There are daggers and knuckle dusters and add-ons for his firearms like scopes, laser sights and silencers.</p><p>Iwaizumi stocks his weapon room far better than he stocks their refrigerator.</p><p>Oikawa takes them all.</p><p>He clears out the gun rack, not sparing the ammo kept in the drawers below, and steals the swords from their mount. Oikawa empties the workbench and removes everything from the glass case without mercy. The safe is cracked without too much difficulty (seriously, Iwaizumi needs better security) and Oikawa discovers that he was right about its contents, though he hadn’t envisaged the bottle of Chivas Regal sitting innocently at the bottom.</p><p>He has a whale of a time throwing everything into the duffel bags he brought and dumping them into the Cadillac he borrowed from Seijoh. By the time he’s done, he leaves Iwaizumi’s weapon room a shell of its former glory.</p><p>Iwaizumi finds it in its sorry state barely half an hour later.</p><p>One step behind Oikawa this time, a sense of foreboding immediately settles on Iwaizumi’s shoulders the moment he sets foot in their eerily empty house. The furniture’s still there, but everything feels hollow. Oikawa’s been here. Iwaizumi recognizes when he’s standing in the aftermath of a quiet hurricane.</p><p>He makes his way to his weapon room with apprehension and when the lights come on to reveal the true fallout, Iwaizumi lets out a broken, “Motherf—!” beyond livid at the sight of a weapon room devoid of any weapons. The gun rack boasts an impressive display of nothing and all his Japanese steel no longer sits on the wall mount. He doesn’t even need to check the drawers or file cabinets or the damn safe to know that they’ve been cleaned out as well. Oikawa will leave him with dust, that hard-hearted bastard.</p><p>Dragging a hand down his chin and clenching it into a fist, Iwaizumi gathers himself to do a mental stocktake. He has his Beretta and an extra clip of ammo and that’s basically it. Not much, but it’ll be enough. If he plays his cards right, he won’t need much to bring Oikawa to his knees.</p><hr/><p>Oikawa remembers it coming to a point when he thought Iwaizumi was cheating on him.</p><p>Waiting out in the delivery van repurposed and connected to surveillance cameras in preparation for Iwaizumi’s arrival, Oikawa loads the shotgun shells into his Remington 870 with more vehemence than necessary and thinks back to an unsavoury incident that happened at a time when the lying and secrets had taken a toll on their relationship.</p><p>He had been going through their clothes in the hamper to prepare them for the wash, turning out the sleeves and checking the pockets, when he picked up Iwaizumi’s light burgundy button-down shirt and a dark smear along the inside of its collar caught his eye.</p><p>It might have been easy to miss given their similar shades, but to Oikawa, the carmine stain on the fabric was stark and accusing. He clutched the shirt in his hands, darkened brown eyes burning through the lipstick stain that planted a hideous notion in Oikawa’s mind. Iwaizumi had left the house wearing this the day before and he returned late into the night reeking of cheap alcohol and lingering perfume.</p><p>Oikawa assumed it was for work, but sometimes the lines between business and pleasure blurred. And it was not uncommon for people to make do with substandard proxies for things they did not have.</p><p>To think Iwaizumi would be working on his laptop while nursing a cup of coffee at their half-wall-slash-breakfast bar behind him—utterly clueless or flagrantly indifferent. Uncaringly (or desperately, as he had refused to admit that time), Oikawa refused to beat around the bush.</p><p>“Hajime, are you cheating on me?”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” came Iwaizumi’s bewildered voice as he looked up from his laptop to meet Oikawa’s steely gaze. “Why would you—”</p><p>He cut him off by raising the shirt, grasping it by the collar to present the smear of lipstick in all its condemning glory.</p><p>“Tell me what this is then.”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s eyes widened a fraction before he carefully said, “I can explain,” and Oikawa realizes now that he had been fabricating a story to cover up the truth that he was on a mission—one that embroiled him in the intimate company of another regardless. He recalls the lie that Iwaizumi told him, “I was trying to cut a deal with the landlord about the gym’s lease since he was going to jack up the rental and he…happened to really like nightclubs. So he wanted to take our discussion there.”</p><p>“And you paid for a personal escort?” Oikawa questioned because whoever it was must have been up close and personal to sully his clothes and most likely skin with their disgusting lips.</p><p>“No, he paid for his own and thought I shouldn’t be left out too,” Iwaizumi answered and Oikawa had foolishly believed him then, although it made him no less irate. In the uncomfortable silence, Iwaizumi assured him like the well-practiced liar he was (and still is), “It was just business Tooru.”</p><p>“I don’t like it when your <em>business</em> means other people get to put their hands and mouths all over you,” Oikawa bristled.</p><p>“I know,” Iwaizumi said, and he dared to look remorseful when he had been lying through his teeth.</p><p>“If you really did, you wouldn’t put yourself in that kind of situation in the first place,” Oikawa admonished. “I know what it’s like. I meet tricky people like that too, but I don’t let anyone take liberties with me, even though they could have, and it would be easier if I did.”</p><p>The statement fit the fund manager persona, but it also reflected the truth of his circumstances. There were countless of assignments that would have been less troublesome if only he had reciprocated their advances or made use of his natural beauty to coax secrets out of beguiled victims. But he didn’t.</p><p>His moral compass might point differently than most, but this was one thing he would never compromise on. With Iwaizumi, devotion came effortlessly and never quite left.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I’ll get someone else to handle this sort of deals next time,” Iwaizumi promised and Oikawa merely offered a non-committal huff in return. Iwaizumi could tell it was not enough to placate him and even though it had not been a personal escort behind the ruby red smudge on his shirt, he had let <em>someone</em> ghost their lips across his neck and whisper answers he needed knowing into his ear. For that, he was careless and guilty and he would pay the price. “Tooru—”</p><p>“Did it succeed?” Oikawa interrupted, hazel eyes unsympathetic.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“The negotiation with the landlord.”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, he agreed to stick with the same rate,” Iwaizumi replied and Oikawa turned his back towards him to resume his chore.</p><p>“After you let some stranger have their way with you,” he said coldly, intending every bit of hurt with those words, “he better.”</p><p>The memory is still vivid and rouses a fury in Oikawa’s chest. He racks the fore-end of the pump-action shotgun and it makes a threatening <em>ch-chk</em> sound as it chambers a round.</p><p>It happened and it’s water under the bridge. Nothing he can do about it anymore. Iwaizumi never made him question him after that confrontation, but maybe it was because he learned to be more careful. Oikawa thought he was cheating on him that time, and while he was convinced otherwise, the truth might not be so different in the end.</p><p>Now that he realizes that Iwaizumi had been lying about—well, about practically everything, Oikawa toys with the idea that he had indeed done something disgraceful while on a job. He thinks about the late nights and the white lies to hide dirty truths but are lies nonetheless and wonders what more Iwaizumi had done. For all he knows, he could have gone as far as to sleep with someone. It’s just business after all.</p><p>The possibility of such a betrayal hurts him far more than it infuriates him.</p><hr/><p>Sieving through the remnants of what Oikawa destroyed in Roppongi surfaced one lead. Iwaizumi reckoned that Oikawa’s agency had other bases he would use to regroup and among the ashes in the furnace, he found a clue that led him to one. The singed logo of a realty company was sufficient to help him track it down to a towering office building in Chiba that was still under construction, where another one of Seijoh’s base was located in several adjacent units rented by the same organization.</p><p>Here he is, a day after their brush with each other in the penthouse office, navigating through the construction site teeming with workers in hard hats and studying their clipboards under slow-moving cranes. Iwaizumi had snuck into the compound pretending to be a Seijoh employee who requested to survey their units and ensure that the work was progressing as planned. Even if they’re unfinished, he surmises that Oikawa wouldn’t wander too far without tying this loose end and knowing him, he’d find some way to convert the units into a functional base.</p><p>There are scaffoldings erected against the building and dusty, plastic sheets draped over trucks carrying new construction materials. Iwaizumi keeps a lookout for anything out of the ordinary. Oikawa would exploit the flurry of activity to strike. He makes his way to one of the cargo lifts in the building, slipping past workers too busy to pay him any mind, oblivious that Oikawa and his team are expecting him from a delivery van parked in a corner of the premises, blending in with the surroundings.</p><p>Iwaizumi enters the elevator, mind focused on a single purpose. Thus far, he has not had a proper word with Oikawa. He intends to have one today no matter what, so that he can seek the answers he needs. Whether it will cost him a great price or not solely depends on the other man. From Oikawa’s point of view however, they will have a talk, and Iwaizumi will have no choice but to give up.</p><p>In the van, his figure comes into view on Watari’s screen and he pipes up, “Oikawa-san, I got a visual. He’s in…Elevator 3.”</p><p>“Okay,” Oikawa nods, watching Iwaizumi intently through the monitor and letting the elevator climb to a deadly height before he signals, “Kunimi.”</p><p>The young agent nods and makes quick work of overriding the system to force the elevator car to a jarring stop, the metallic box jerking with a loud clang, and Oikawa notices Iwaizumi taking a step back and looking around warily.</p><p>“Put me through,” Oikawa says next, moving to stand over Watari’s seat and putting on his headset. When Watari indicates that he’s good to go, Oikawa speaks into the microphone and offers Iwaizumi a warm welcome in a sardonically pleasant voice, “Hi stranger. I believe you’re supposed to be wearing proper safety gear when you’re on-site, but I don’t think it’ll do much for the pickle you’re in.”</p><p>At the sound of that insufferable voice filling the elevator, Iwaizumi releases a humourless laugh. He shakes his head, no longer capable of being exasperated with Oikawa’s provocative words and scheming ways, and looks up to meet his pompous expression on the small screen above the elevator buttons.</p><p>“Hey Tooru, do you think you’ll ever face me properly instead of running away or hiding behind a screen?” he jibes and the corner of Oikawa’s mouth curls at the insult.</p><p>“You could use a bit of finesse in your techniques Iwa-chan,” he mocks and is compelled to not only remind Iwaizumi of his flaws, but that he should tread carefully, given his predicament. “You know it wasn’t very difficult to break into your precious weapon room or trap you in a steel box that’s suspended forty storeys in the air, ready to plunge at my call. I can’t believe they take assassins like you into the agency.”</p><p>“And they let their agents run their mouths like this?” Iwaizumi fires back. “I’m surprised you ever hit your marks with the time you spend listening to yourself talk.”</p><p>A snicker is heard from beside Oikawa, who snaps towards Matsukawa and glares at him. The taller agent purses his lips, although a smirk peeks through the line because killer-husband over there might be onto something, and raises his hands in sheepish surrender.</p><p>“You’re in <em>my</em> trap aren’t you?” Oikawa says pointedly but the fact doesn’t seem to bother Iwaizumi.</p><p>“Am I really?”</p><p>“Don’t play games with me.”</p><p>“Oh I wouldn’t,” Iwaizumi lilts, brows knitted like he’s recalling something. “I know you got a shaped charge on the counterbalance cable and two on the primary and secondary brakes. I can tell you’re not here to play. Good thing I’m not here to play either.”</p><p>The self-satisfied smile on his face is all Oikawa needs to know that Iwaizumi has taken care of the explosives he planted on the cargo lifts. It puts him out but he doesn’t lose his leverage yet.</p><p>“He found them,” Yahaba informs with gravitas, albeit redundantly. Oikawa’s vein tics.</p><p>“Yes, I can see that,” he enunciates to Yahaba before speaking into the mic again, still confident. “Did you also get the base charge on the principle cable?”</p><p>From the way Iwaizumi’s smirk drops, it’s evident he didn’t. Now he is undoubtedly held captive in an elevator hanging over nothing but air, at the mercy of Oikawa who can bring him to death’s door with a press of a button. The brunette tries to celebrate his victory, but as far as fighting with Iwaizumi goes, he never truly feels like he’s won even when he comes out on top. It always feels like he’s losing something—losing ground, losing heart.</p><p>Even now, he has to quell the thought that regardless of what he chooses to do in the next few minutes, loss is inevitable, and he pretends it doesn’t gnaw at his heart.</p><p>“Hm. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll give you a chance. For old time’s sake,” he tells Iwaizumi with false nonchalance but his voice turns serious a split second later. “Leave town, or I blow it.”</p><p>Iwaizumi somehow manages to shrug.</p><p>“Not so much of a chance than a threat is it?”</p><p>“Semantics,” Oikawa waves off, growing unnerved at Iwaizumi’s lack of concern. Does he not realize that he has no bargaining power here? Or does he think Oikawa will not follow through? Such childish thinking could be his downfall. It had been his—when he believed Iwaizumi’s lies, when it turned out that he had been sharing what he thought was wholly his with nameless strangers.</p><p>It made him a fool. And it brought them to this state—free, but bloodthirsty.</p><p>“Last warning Iwa-chan, give up on the mission or I send you plummeting.”</p><p>“I don’t give up.”</p><p>“You gave up on us.”</p><p>The accusation stings like salt on a wound. Iwaizumi keeps silent, for the words have died on his tongue, no comeback withering enough to hide the way it pierces. Oikawa is fully aware of the damage he’s done, but beyond that he knows he’s not absolved from the same fault. Yet, pride or something equally worthless hardens his gaze. The silence stretches on both sides of the screen and Oikawa vaguely registers that his co-workers are present, caught in the crossfire of a lovers’ quarrel.</p><p>“There you go again,” Iwaizumi says eventually, eyes worn around the edges. He sounds tired, like he no longer has it in him to be angry because all they do is miss each other and it just leads them to the same tiresome place. “Blaming me for everything when you’re half in the wrong. Will it kill you to admit that sometimes?”</p><p>“Is that what you want to hear?” Oikawa snaps, doubting that the admission of guilt now will help matters at all when they’ve already ended up here. Patronizingly, he admits, “Fine, I was wrong too. I was part of the problem, I made mistakes. And I’m sorry our marriage was shit. We should have left each other in Havana because we were bound to fail from the start.”</p><p>“You don’t really believe that.”</p><p>“Oh please,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and glaring at Iwaizumi. “Don’t pretend you know me when we’ve just been living in a web of lies.”</p><p>“Was everything a lie?” Iwaizumi asks defiantly, almost desperate for a shred of truth, a sliver of hope. “When you said love was tough but it was the easiest thing with me, was that a lie? When you told me that one day you want to settle down in a nice city, maybe somewhere near the sea so that we can take those long walks you seem to love, was that also a lie?”</p><p>He had said them in intimate moments, bare and heart against his, with the tenderest expression that it was hard to imagine he hadn’t meant it.</p><p>“That’s not going to work,” Oikawa says evenly.</p><p>“If those were all lies, then blow this thing up,” Iwaizumi challenges.</p><p>“You think I won’t?”</p><p>“I think you won’t.”</p><p>If he wants his answers, he has to force himself over the edge and see if Oikawa is hanging on or letting him go.</p><p>“Don’t test me, Hajime,” Oikawa warns, his nails digging into his arm. To a keener ear, it sounds like a plea. “When you come to regret it, it’ll be too late.”</p><p>“Will it? Because I think you’re—”</p><p>“Spare me your preaching.”</p><p>“Tooru—”</p><p>“We’re done.”</p><p>He barely meets Iwaizumi’s eyes before the image cuts off abruptly and the screen is filled with static. Outside, there is a muffled explosion and a thunderous crash as the charges shatter the cables and the elevator nosedives forty storeys to its demise.</p><p>Alarmed, Oikawa rips off his headset and whirls to Yahaba, who’s responsible for detonating the explosives <em>at his order</em>, and demands, “What the fuck was that?”</p><p>“You said you’re done,” Yahaba answers, the words going a little high-pitched at the end. “I thought that was the signal!”</p><p>Oikawa makes a sound of disbelief and hurries out of the van. He is greeted by chaos, workers scrambling towards the accident to check if there are any casualties and shouting over one another wondering how the hell an elevator just plummeted without warning. Oikawa ignores the clueless, frenzied employees and approaches the commotion uncertainly. The crash created a huge cloud of smoke and dust that has yet to settle, obscuring his view, but Oikawa waits, heart in his throat.</p><p>It clears to reveal a misshapen elevator car with its steel walls caved in, and Oikawa needs no other indication that a disaster like that will not leave any survivors. He doesn’t expect to see anyone walking out of the wreckage (although some part of him hopes).</p><p>It’s better this way, he tells himself. All good things come to an end, some more tragically than others.</p><p>He tears himself away from the scene and returns to the van, where Matsukawa is holding the door open for him. He offers him a sympathetic look and Oikawa wants to say that he shouldn’t. He’s won, hasn’t he? He’s the last one standing, isn’t he?</p><p>So why does it feel like his heart is twisting with an impossible loss?</p><p>In Elevator 4, it is quiet except for the hum of the machine. Iwaizumi detaches the transmitter from the control panel and leans against the metal railing wordlessly. The device sits warmly in his palm, having done its job of switching the signal so that whoever’s tapping into his elevator will be hoodwinked into thinking he’s in 3.</p><p>Now that elevator is crushed beyond recognition at the bottom of the unfinished building and it has given Iwaizumi all the answers he needs. He came to test a theory—that they have not yet reached a point of no return—and Oikawa proved him wrong and proved him a fool.</p><p>He wanted to believe that Oikawa wasn’t serious about killing him, so he put his life on the line and hoped to god that Oikawa wouldn’t take it.</p><p>As it turned out, he did.</p><p>But it wouldn’t have hurt as much if he hadn’t done it so easily.</p><p>Iwaizumi tries to bury that hurt with anger because it’s infinitely easier. This is not the answer he wished for, but it is the truth, and it is meaningless to drag this out any further. Neither of them deserves this, after all the misery they put each other through. Clearing his mind, Iwaizumi hardens his heart for what he needs to do.</p><p>Oikawa wanted to kill him. And like the true assassin he is, he did.</p><p>How laughable.</p><p>All this while he thought he’s been protecting Oikawa from this godforsaken world, only to be ridiculed with the fact that he’s been deep in its underbelly the entire time.</p><hr/><p>There is an old shrine resting on the mountain-top in the outskirts of Tokyo. It begins with a vermillion <em>torii</em> gate that leads one through a cobbled stone path towards the worship hall. It is guarded by a pair of <em>komainu</em>, one of the lion-dog statues having its mouth open—<em>“a”</em>, the beginning of all things, and the other with its mouth closed—<em>“un”</em>, the end of all things. Behind the worship hall is the main sanctuary, enclosed by the inner fence. The cliff it sits on provides a panoramic view of the dark forest and beyond that, the canvas of twinkling lights from the city’s buildings and streets.</p><p>The shrine used to be a lively place. It had its fair share of visitors despite the 140-step flight of stairs that one must first overcome. People came here for their <em>hatsumode</em> to pray for good luck during the new year and Iwaizumi and Oikawa were no exception. Festivals were held in the nearby grounds. Oikawa remembers attending its final one before they stopped organizing it altogether, dazzled by how adept Iwaizumi had been with a toy rifle to win him a giant plushie. He simply assumed it was another one of Iwaizumi’s hidden talents and it never crossed his mind that Iwaizumi was merely translating his skills with a real firearm.</p><p>Coincidentally, it’s the same shrine where they were married by a kind Shinto priest under the parted rain clouds. It was an ordinary day and born out of spontaneity. And it had simply been them, two rings newly forged and the enormity of their emotions in a quiet ceremony.</p><p>But as time went by, the shrine gradually lost its spirit with the departure of its shrine-keepers and the number of visitors dwindled. Now, as Oikawa stands behind the rickety fence overlooking the glittering city, he discovers just how much a place can deteriorate in the absence of care.</p><p>The brightly painted <em>torii</em> gate has dulled and the usually welcoming <em>shimenawa</em> that hangs from pillar to pillar look forlorn in the rustling wind. Weeds have begun to fill the cracks of the cobbled walkway and the ever-loyal <em>komainu</em> are covered in patches of moss. The neglected worship hall and main sanctuary no longer provide peace but seem as if they would make for an apt setting in a horror movie.</p><p>Even so, Iwaizumi and Oikawa find themselves returning to the shrine as tradition, perhaps as a rebellion against its natural progression or in denial about the crumbling state of the shrine. They raced each other up the daunting stairs like reckless teenagers, screamed their hearts’ desires and worries into the forest, pranced around the sacred grounds like they owned the place and once made love underneath the moonlight on the wooden floors of the main sanctuary, more reverent with each other than any god who deserves it.</p><p>Such passions are a thing of the past. Even before today, with how they killed their relationship—stifling it with lies and secrets—they have already been a thing of the past. It seems like the inevitable fate of two liars and Oikawa allows himself to be honest for this moment to admit that his heart aches unbearably for a love he wishes could be saved.</p><p>After all, there is no other reason he would have come here if not out of nostalgia and longing.</p><p>Oikawa must have been too immersed in his musings not to notice the faint sound of footsteps against the overgrown earth or the dark figure sliding up to the fence in the shadows some ways off.</p><p>“I thought you’d be here,” a deep, low voice drifts from beside—unmistakable and impossible.</p><p>Oikawa startles a little, heart arresting in his chest. He doesn’t turn to the voice just yet, but after a second he drops his head with a quiet short laugh, cursing his ignorance. He should have minded the caution of assuming death when he had not seen a body. A rookie mistake, he’ll confess.</p><p>Turning, he comes face-to-face with Iwaizumi, alive and well. His profile is haloed by the moonlight, giving him an almost ghostly quality, and Oikawa would have believed he’s an apparition if the hardness in Iwaizumi’s eyes isn’t so familiar. For some reason, the ache in his chest doesn’t let up. He releases a held breath evenly and slips into a flippant but guarded countenance, remarking, “Well look who’s back from the dead.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t make it so easy for you,” Iwaizumi says without missing a beat.</p><p>“I don’t doubt that. You did have a knack for making things difficult,” Oikawa returns, curbing the flood of relief that comes with this banter, despite the hostility that enshrouds it.</p><p>Iwaizumi snorts. Why is he not surprised that Oikawa wouldn’t offer anything more than a snide welcome?</p><p>“That’s rich, coming from you. Have you tried living with yourself?”</p><p>Oikawa fakes a thoughtful consideration and jabs back, “Not for a long while. I kinda miss it.”</p><p>“I thought you missed me. Isn’t that why you’re here?”</p><p>He’s hit the nail on the head, but Oikawa decides not to be evasive this time. He’s been caught returning to the place that holds dear memories for them, it would be futile to deny that Iwaizumi’s supposed death hasn’t shored up lingering feelings.</p><p>“We might not have worked out,” Oikawa starts, “but you have to admit, we did have some of the best times together.”</p><p>Iwaizumi narrows his eyes. So much for those best times, when they didn’t mean shit because Oikawa didn’t hesitate to send him plunging to his death merely hours ago, did he?</p><p>“Having second thoughts?” he taunts but Oikawa cleverly turns the question back to him.</p><p>“Are you?” he asks pointedly, because if they were talking about who wavered, Oikawa isn’t the first. “Back then—you had a clean shot. Why didn’t you take it?”</p><p>Iwaizumi’s wondered the same thing. The answer sits in his heart wreathed in thorns, unacknowledged.</p><p>“…Moment of weakness,” he replies vaguely, keeping his expression stoic.</p><p>Oikawa chuckles humourlessly, “Your soft heart is what’s going to get you killed.”</p><p>“Won’t happen again.”</p><p>It is both a warning to Oikawa and a reminder to himself. Oikawa tried to kill him. He treated this like a job; Iwaizumi needs to remember to do the same.</p><p>“Rather presumptuous of you,” Oikawa quips and abandons their bickering to call out on what Iwaizumi’s really here for. “I take it you’re here to either tell me you’re giving up or kill me. Knowing you, it’s probably the latter.”</p><p>“And I considered offering you the same deal, because contrary to what you might think, I can and will kill you,” Iwaizumi claims, eyes sharp and words caustic. He only lets the hint of a knowing smirk accompany his next words, “But knowing you, you’d probably tell me to fuck off.”</p><p>Oikawa grins back at him, voice sultry and slow.</p><p>“That’s my Iwa-chan.”</p><p>Between Iwaizumi’s unexpected appearance and now, Oikawa has inched closer to him until he can slide a palm over his jaw, excruciatingly gentle like he never meant to kill him at all. Iwaizumi drives away the thought of how he’s missed his touch, warm and familiar, and slaps the hand that is creeping towards the Beretta holstered at his hip, grabbing it first to point it at Oikawa’s head.</p><p>“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” he tells him, giving him credit for the attempt but affronted that Oikawa would think he wouldn’t notice.</p><p>The brunette offers a one-shoulder shrug, seemingly unbothered at being held at gunpoint.</p><p>“You came here unarmed?” Iwaizumi asks.</p><p>“I didn’t think I had to kill my husband a second time.”</p><p>“Amateur.”</p><p>But as soon as the word leaves his mouth, Oikawa jabs the side of his hand into Iwaizumi’s wrist, breaking the tension and forcing him to release the gun. With lightning speed, he disarms Iwaizumi and takes a hard step out of his proximity, the Beretta resting smugly in his palms and aimed right back at its owner.</p><p>“You were saying?” he mocks, and Iwaizumi’s jaw clenches.</p><p>As if that isn’t insulting enough, Oikawa releases the magazine from the Beretta and with his eyes locked with Iwaizumi’s, tosses it over the cliff and drops the now worthless gun to the ground with a clatter.</p><p>Iwaizumi inhales measuredly, receiving Oikawa’s message crystal clear—that if they were to fight to the death, he won’t need the convenience of a gun, even if it’s right in his hands.</p><p>The wind rustles above them, shaking the leaves on their branches, and at the sound of a crow flapping into the night, a fight ensues on sacred grounds.</p><p>Iwaizumi quickly comes to learn that Oikawa is as skilled of a close combat fighter as he is. He is agile, movements nimble and footwork clever. For a while, he forces Iwaizumi back against the stone path with his slew of attacks, and the other agent can only parry with elbow blocks or narrowly evade the fist that would otherwise knock the breath out of him.</p><p><em>“Self-defence classes my ass,”</em> Iwaizumi sneers inwardly as he bears the brunt of Oikawa’s attacks, clearly honed over years of rigorous training. Oikawa moves with the intent to injure and maim, and he does it like it’s second nature to him. As it turns out, he wears violence like a tailored suit.</p><p>Iwaizumi sweeps at Oikawa’s leg but he dodges it with a jump and goes in for a punch. It’s blocked by a lifted arm but Iwaizumi knows he’s made a wrong move when he feels Oikawa’s fingers close over his forearm, yanking it down and leaving his face exposed for a clean hit to his jaw. Oikawa takes advantage of his daze to strike him behind the knee, throwing him down to all fours before sending him flying with a kick straight to his gut.</p><p>It’s hardly enough to take him down but it <em>stings</em>. Oikawa is obviously not holding back. Iwaizumi picks himself up and meets his gleaming eyes, fired up from the little upper hand he got from their warm-up. He is smirking, and Iwaizumi wants to wipe it off his cocky face.</p><p>“All the times…I tried teaching you a few moves in the ring…and you played along,” he grits out through panted breaths, reminded of what a first-rate performer Oikawa is. “I should give you a standing ovation.”</p><p>“I’ll take credit where it’s due,” Oikawa quips.</p><p>They meet again in a flurry of blows, neither giving their opponent an opening. Iwaizumi artfully sidesteps Oikawa’s assault and Oikawa absorbs the impact from Iwaizumi’s punches and kicks with well-timed blocks. The evenly matched fight is broken for a moment when Iwaizumi charges towards Oikawa and delivers a powerful kick to the centre of his chest, the force of it causing Oikawa to crash into the old fence.</p><p>The sound of splintering wood pierces the night air, and Oikawa grunts in pain as he gets up on one knee. He flicks his head to get his messy hair out of his face, glancing up at Iwaizumi who looks a bit too complacent about busting a hole through the perimeter with his body. Snarling, Oikawa reaches behind him and pulls out the Ka-Bar fixed blade with a flick of his wrist, evidently armed after all.</p><p>The sight of the knife catches Iwaizumi a little off guard but he cocks his head like he should have known better because of course Oikawa would be ambiguous about being armed. He readies himself as Oikawa rushes towards him and manoeuvres around his clean swings, the knife slicing through air instead of skin.</p><p>Iwaizumi dodges the weapon easily and seizes an opening to stop Oikawa mid-stab, twisting his arm outwards and snatching a cry from his lips. The trapped agent tries to break free, but any movement is countered by Iwaizumi wrenching his arm painfully in the other direction.</p><p>“Come on Tooru, stop struggling. I’ll make it quick for you,” Iwaizumi taunts, commending Oikawa for hanging onto the knife despite the unpleasant angle.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Oikawa spits, and endures the jolt of pain as he throws up the knife and catches it with his other hand. Iwaizumi releases his grip to evade the dangerous arc that follows. It gives Oikawa the chance to lunge it at his neck, but he’s halted when Iwaizumi catches his wrist and traps them in a deadlock.</p><p>The edge of the knife slants viciously at the column of Iwaizumi’s neck, trembling as they both try to overpower the other. The stand-off seems to tilt in Oikawa’s favour with his height advantage, but Iwaizumi darts out to grab a fistful of Oikawa’s hair and <em>tugs</em>.</p><p>Oikawa shouts as he is yanked back but he refuses to give in. Defiant, he holds his ground and glowers at Iwaizumi, mocking, “I like it more when you’re rough in bed.”</p><p>“Me too,” Iwaizumi returns snidely. “I do like the sounds you make when you’re being fucked.”</p><p>“Oh darling, you thought they were real?”</p><p>Oikawa’s smirk vanishes as quickly as it had appeared when he bites down <em>hard</em> on Iwaizumi’s arm, eliciting a yelp and making him let go. The Kita Dai agent jumps back from an ensuing slash but his reaction is delayed and the blade kisses his forearm like a deadly lover.</p><p>A safe distance away, he lifts his arm and watches the blood drip from the slit. It’s not deep, but it stings anyway, and he wonders if Oikawa will stop cutting him open inside and out.</p><p>Iwaizumi holds Oikawa’s gaze for a few tense seconds, the other man’s expression inscrutable. Something flashes in his eyes—murderous intent or consternation, it’s hard to tell—before he bolts towards Iwaizumi again, driven by habit. But Iwaizumi keeps his cool, reads Oikawa’s movements that seem more haphazard, and disarms him with a simultaneous strike to his hand and the inside of his wrist, the knife flying out of his grip a few feet away.</p><p>He sends Oikawa sprawling with a spinning back kick and rushes for the weapon, swiping it from the dirt-covered ground and hurling it at the brunette. Oikawa barely avoids the plunge of a dagger into his chest as it whizzes by and disappears into the black forest behind. Before he can gather himself, Iwaizumi is charging towards him and all Oikawa manages is to cross his arms in front of him to bear the force of a perfectly executed flying side kick, the momentum from Iwaizumi’s run and the strength of his legs throwing him off his feet and causing him to tumble backwards, further away from the shrine grounds.</p><p>Oikawa scrambles up but his foot slips on the edge and he realizes belatedly that there is no more earth behind him, only blackness and the depth of the cliff. Desperately, he tries to clamber for something as his body slips into the darkness, but he merely grabs handfuls of dirt and grass and his feet find nothing for purchase.</p><p>Before the fall he catches sight of Iwaizumi’s wide-eyed expression and he doesn’t have the mind to wish for a lovelier farewell as gravity drags him down. The place is so old, so neglected, a piece of the cliff breaks off and plunges together with him.</p><p>When Iwaizumi wills his legs to fucking move, triggered by the sound of a grisly crack down below, he staggers over to the jagged edge and peers over, not sure what he’s anticipating. Expectedly, the shadows peer back at him. The moonlight doesn’t filter through the denseness and Iwaizumi trains his ears for any sign of life, but only the wind and the faint sound of trailing debris welcome him.</p><p>There is no Oikawa, and Iwaizumi understands a different meaning to how lonely it can feel at the top. He stumbles away from the precipice, still having trouble believing that he’s the last one standing and how fast it had happened. Is he really gone? Is this how Oikawa felt when he thought he killed him earlier today? Was he also struck with an indescribable sense of loss like Iwaizumi is now?</p><p>As it sinks into him, Iwaizumi feels the energy leave his legs and he drops down onto the ground, collapsing against the part of the fence that isn’t broken. The shards of wood are strewn around him and it paints a more pleasant picture than whatever’s thrashing in his heart.</p><p>Part of him refuses to believe that this is it, that Oikawa Tooru—the man he’s recently discovered is deadlier than he imagined—can be beaten so easily, that given all the fights they had, he would not go so quietly. The other part of him hopes—that Oikawa would make a grand entrance any minute now, dishevelled and having seen better days but wearing a shit-eating grin and provoking Iwaizumi the way he’s best at. If it ends like this, it finishes nothing.</p><p>Like this, he is still a liar. Like this, he is still a lover.</p><p>He doesn’t know how much time has passed as he sits there, numb and unmoving, until his phone buzzes out of the blue and Iwaizumi’s heart skips a beat. Gingerly, he pulls it out and notices that the call is coming from a private number. He connects it and presses the phone to his ear.</p><p>“Hey Iwa-chan, do me a favour and try harder next time?” a familiar and derisive voice greets him, the words punctuated with quiet pants and Iwaizumi feels just as breathless.</p><p>A rueful laugh, soft and as gentle as the wind, escapes into the receiver. Iwaizumi drops an arm onto his bent knee and rolls his head back against the fence, suddenly overcome with a tiredness that makes his bones feel heavy.</p><p>“You’re just too good at not dying,” he concedes, his mouth curling into the ghost of a joyless smile.</p><p>On the other end, Oikawa—having avoided death by the skin of his teeth by clutching onto ropes of vines and latching himself onto the uneven slope of the cliff—retorts, “Maybe you’re just really bad at your job.”</p><p>He leans heavily against the stone wall that must be surrounding the foot of the temple and inhales deeply, relieved that he got away relatively unharmed and the clearing wasn’t far.</p><p>Iwaizumi’s voice is carried in a murmur, so placid unlike Oikawa’s sniffy remarks that it lulls him from his temper, “Maybe. You always make it difficult for me.”</p><p>Oikawa can’t be sure if it’s an allusion to their earlier tiff about making life difficult for each other or Iwaizumi is admitting that having to take his life does not come as easily, despite taking so many others. This wearisome game they’re playing, built upon years of unsaid words and twisted stories, is beginning to tire him to the core. It draws out a jaded sigh from his lips.</p><p>“Let’s finish this Iwa-chan. I’m tired of it.”</p><p>For a while, it felt like they were cruising in a boat to nowhere, just the two of them and content, but lately it’s as if they’ve been trying to plug a hole in the hull but finding another elsewhere and by the time they realize they’re sinking, they’re too far out into the sea.</p><p>“Finally something I can agree with,” Iwaizumi says wryly.</p><p>“When we meet again, it’s going to be the end,” Oikawa points out, seeking closure above all else.</p><p>“Then don’t you think it’s only right that it ends where it started?”</p><p>Iwaizumi wouldn’t call himself sentimental, at least not outwardly, but the house is where this whole mess began and before that, where the walls have heard their lies and the carpet is filled with secrets, so it seemed apt for everything to unravel there, the stage for love and hate and the murky in-between. And if he were to die, he’d like to do it at home.</p><p>“I’m looking forward to it,” Oikawa accepts.</p><p>The line is quiet for a bit, save for their gentle breathing, although one is calm and the other is caught in a turmoil’s closing. The silence unsettles Oikawa, who has half a mind to hang up and go back to finish this once and for all but then Iwaizumi speaks up.</p><p>“Tell me something?” he asks, curious for an answer that might drive the dagger further into his chest.</p><p>“What.”</p><p>“What went through your mind,” he goes ahead anyway, “when you found out it was me?”</p><p>Oikawa stills. The question is loaded, and it might as well have been a cocked gun digging into his forehead.</p><p>“Why are you—”</p><p>“I’ll go first,” Iwaizumi cuts him off. “I was thinking, ‘shit, this is the last time I’ll be seeing him like this, standing in our kitchen making a Russian roulette of a dinner.’ I guess you never learn how to truly appreciate something until it’s gone.”</p><p>The sight of Oikawa’s back bustling around in the kitchen preparing their meals even though his culinary attempts are a hit-or-miss is a rare picture of domesticity that Iwaizumi took for granted, and now that he’ll never see it again, he realizes how much he’ll miss it.</p><p>It was a fleeting image that crossed his mind in that moment of epiphany and it was enough to show that when everything is stripped away, he thought about Oikawa before he thought about anything else. He wonders if Oikawa is the same. If he isn’t, he wonders if it will change anything.</p><p>“Why are you saying this now?” Oikawa demands tiredly.</p><p>Iwaizumi ignores his question, “What about you?”</p><p>“Does it matter?”</p><p>“Humour me.”</p><p>Sighing, Oikawa clutches his phone and steels himself, refusing to bare his weakness—not when they’re this close to the end. He forces his words to come out in a stony declaration—clear but layered, “I thought…that it’s such a shame I had to get your blood on my hands.”</p><p>A bitter smile graces Iwaizumi’s lips. Truly the words of a cold-blooded killer.</p><p>“That’s all I need to know,” he says. “Goodbye Tooru.”</p><p>Oikawa drops his hand to his side after the line goes dead with a click, and it takes him a while to swallow the lump in his throat. Beneath the sympathetic moon and the whispering trees, Oikawa slides against the stone wall to sit on his heels and crosses his arms over his bent knees.</p><p>Stupid, stupid, <em>stupid</em>. Has he been lying so much he doesn’t know how to tell the truth anymore? Why does the world make it so easy to hurt but so hard to heal?</p><p>Oikawa bites out a curse and lets his head fall against his arms, wondering how much more he can bear when it feels like he’s been sinking for the longest time.</p><p>But didn’t anyone ever tell him, that the weight of water is tenfold, when you’re begging for mercy on the ocean bed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The truth of a liar is a mirage unmistaken.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>and you can aim for my heart, go for blood<br/>but you would still miss me in your bones<br/><i>my tears ricochet, folklore, t.s.</i></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Oikawa arrives home first. He goes for the M16 assault rifle from the arsenal of weapons he stashed in the back of the Cadillac and throws every unnecessary thought out of his mind to do a sweep of the house. He drills it in his mind to stay focused on the task, something that feels like second nature to him before, as he prowls around the large, darkened house to check if Iwaizumi is hiding in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to strike.</p>
<p>But the house is empty and all that fills the night air is the buzz from the insects in their backyard. Oikawa pads upstairs with the butt of the M16 pressed against his shoulder and muzzle raised, taking care to stay on high alert, and accords each room with the same attentiveness as downstairs.</p>
<p>When he reaches his study and deems it safe, Oikawa crosses the room towards the window to look out for Iwaizumi who should be here any minute now. He studies the neighbourhood streets through the glass, unnerved at how their once peaceful quietude could become so eerie. Lit by dim streetlamps that cast barely moving shadows, they seem to paint a foreboding picture—a precursor to the end. Oikawa keeps an eye out for any motion, but he only spots the silhouette of the Tanakas’ wilfully adventurous cat slinking across the roof. He tips his head to check the sides—nothing there as well.</p>
<p>Turning away to survey the other rooms, Oikawa stops short when his eyes land on a pale object on his cherry wood desk. At the mere sight of it, he stills and is caught by the wave of longing that breaches his chest, the same way seafoam rides up to the shore on the crest of waves the day he received the item.</p>
<p>Oikawa slings the rifle over his shoulder by its strap and steps towards his desk to pick up the conch seashell from its resin dish, scattered with random pushpins and other trinkets. It’s prickly and it reminds him of someone. His mind supplies him with the memory it comes with, like a traitor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were only a handful of times when Oikawa encountered a near-death experience. He was skilled enough to avoid putting himself in such grave danger but sometimes luck ran out and shit happened. He had been pinned against the low wooden table in a traditional sushi restaurant, the air being choked out of him until his vision blurred. His Glock was out of reach, and there was nothing nearby to grab onto except the thick wrists of his attacker.</p>
<p>Soon, his surroundings started to fade away and he scarcely had the capacity to think that he was about to meet his untimely death when the image of a certain spiky-haired, perpetually frowning man flashes across his mind. Though he said perpetually frowning, he knew how that expression could turn into a gently exasperated sigh or a gaze filled with affection, aggressive or otherwise.</p>
<p>And all of a sudden, he wanted to tell the death gods to fuck off. What followed happened in a blur.</p>
<p>By the time he collected himself, he found himself standing in a wreckage of his own madness, the body of his assailant crumpled at his feet. He held a bronze samurai statue in his hand, and the blood that dripped from its armour must have belonged to the half-dozen bodies that littered the <em>tatami</em> floor when they barged into the private room to assist their ally but rushed to their deaths instead.</p>
<p>It was almost bizarre that barely an hour after he went berserk and tainted the paper-coloured walls with smatters of blood, he would return to his house in suburban Tokyo and camouflage himself in a seemingly domestic life—hands wielding a weapon one moment and tugging on the knot of his tie the next.</p>
<p>Oikawa had been in a reflective mood—wondering when the last time he went unhinged that he didn’t care whose life he took as long as he had his own—until Iwaizumi entering their bedroom pulled him out of his reverie. The other man started grumbling about some asshole on the road while taking off his jacket and Oikawa was glad to make a sound of acknowledgement and let Iwaizumi’s griping fill the room. It devolved into background noise and allowed Oikawa to slip into another bout of rumination.</p>
<p>Predictably, Iwaizumi noticed the lack of reaction—Oikawa had a range of them for the smallest things at times—and he turned away from his wardrobe to regard Oikawa with curiosity but was met with his strangely stiff back, shoulders shifting with the idle movement of his fingers on his buttons.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” he asked, and Oikawa jumps imperceptibly, recovering quickly to half-face Iwaizumi with a faked smile and a “Nothing’s wrong.”</p>
<p>Iwaizumi likely knew that it was an excuse, but Oikawa hoped he wouldn’t press further and accepted that people had bad days at work. It was more of a misfortune than a blessing then that Iwaizumi refused to let Oikawa dwell alone in his misery.</p>
<p>“You can tell me.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to tell, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa insisted, the name uttered in a strain. He didn’t want to have to come up with another tale and even if he did disclose the unimaginable truth, how would he begin to give reason to insanity?</p>
<p>As frustration seeped into his being, Oikawa hadn’t noticed Iwaizumi approaching him from behind—that man always had the habit of catching Oikawa off guard, and Oikawa always had the habit of letting his guard down. Iwaizumi reached out to coax Oikawa out of the shell he sometimes retreated to and touched him on the arm, but the touch—light as it was—must have triggered something within him, and he whipped back with a swing of his arm, backhanding Iwaizumi across the cheek.</p>
<p>The strike resounded in their walk-in wardrobe with a <em>slap</em>, and horror flooded Oikawa’s face when he realized what he’d done. Iwaizumi was facing him with his cheek, equally stunned, and a pale red was blooming against his skin.</p>
<p>“I—I’m sorry,” Oikawa stammered, losing his cool from having brought the violence home today, and it had been so instinctual, like it was a part of him. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi interrupted, not angry. Oikawa was looking at him with wide eyes stricken with shock and Iwaizumi couldn’t find it in himself to blame him, even though his volatile reaction had been uncalled for.</p>
<p>He stepped closer to Oikawa, who grabbed onto his shirt like he was seeking forgiveness, and Iwaizumi granted it to him in the form of a warm hand on his jaw and the slip of fingers in his hair. The gesture, given so effortlessly, released the tension in Oikawa’s shoulders and he closed the distance between them in an embrace, arms going around Iwaizumi’s middle and up his back to dig fingers into his shoulder blades. Iwaizumi let him press their bodies together, wrapping his arms around Oikawa to rub his back soothingly.</p>
<p>They stayed like this for a while, Oikawa finding reprieve in Iwaizumi’s steady presence but also chiding himself for lashing out. He was appalled that his first instinct was to hit, despite it being Iwaizumi and despite the gentleness of his touch. It was the first time he laid a hand on him, and it weighed on him like a sin, heavier than the stack of bodies lying in a pool of their blood back at the restaurant. Had he always been this repulsive?</p>
<p>As he fell deeper into his cage, Oikawa was tempted to divulge the truth, perhaps in pursuit of release from baring everything about himself to another or perhaps desperate for acceptance from the one person who mattered. Perhaps both. He took a shuddering breath and clung onto the back of Iwaizumi’s shirt tightly.</p>
<p>“I hurt someone today,” he let out in a whisper, afraid to face Iwaizumi lest his expression was one that would crush his spirit.</p>
<p>But Iwaizumi simply asked, “Did you have a choice?”</p>
<p>Oikawa tilted his head into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck and softly said, “It was either him or me.”</p>
<p>He felt the familiar warmth of a hand in his hair as he heard Iwaizumi say, “Then it feels like you made the right choice.”</p>
<p>Because between a stranger and Oikawa, Iwaizumi knew who he would choose every time. But Oikawa broke the embrace abruptly to stare at Iwaizumi searchingly. There was uncertainty and a little bit of fear in his hazel eyes as he blurted, “It’s not—What if I—”</p>
<p>But he bit off the sentence in a rush when he saw how Iwaizumi was looking back at him with curiosity and confusion, just an ordinary man who was unfortunate enough to be entangled in Oikawa’s blood-soaked life. Iwaizumi might be able to excuse this time, but if it were something far greater, Oikawa did not want to imagine the consequences.</p>
<p>What would Iwaizumi think if he knew the truth—that Oikawa’s hands had always been drenched in red and that he killed better than he did anything else. He couldn’t imagine a reality where Iwaizumi wouldn’t look at him in fear or shame and it scared him—scared him enough to hold back.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Iwaizumi repeated, sensing how much difficulty Oikawa had with forming the words. Oikawa had moments like this—when it seemed like something was bothering him, but something was also holding him back from confiding. Iwaizumi had similar instances too, and there was no way in hell he could tell Oikawa exactly what his problems were, so he didn’t probe. And if Oikawa were ready to tell him, he’d be here.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to say anything. Not until you want to,” Iwaizumi reassured. “I’m still here.”</p>
<p>Oikawa could only nod, and even now, as he stands in the darkened study with an M16 slung over his shoulder, he remembers how Iwaizumi has always given him the comfort he needs.</p>
<p>After that, Iwaizumi had taken him out on a ride on the Kawasaki and they cruised along the quiet highways to reach the sea. They walked barefoot on the beach and let the waves tickle their feet and the sea breeze kiss their cheeks. Out there, against the sea and sky that stretch into blackness, everything felt so small—them and their problems in the face of a vast, vast world.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi found a conch shell in the sand and lifted it to Oikawa’s ear so he could hear how it held the sounds of the sea. He told him that “if you ever feel overwhelmed, maybe you can listen to this and remember that nothing is as insurmountable as it seems,” and dropped it into his hands.</p>
<p>It served its purpose, but it was also a reminder that someone like him could be loved so wholeheartedly—that he was ugly, but not unloved.</p>
<p>They made love on the beach then, hidden behind a few large rocks and Oikawa remembered how adoration was branded onto his skin and how he crashed with the waves. He remembered how desperately he wanted to keep this, because he was so afraid of being unloved by Iwaizumi if the truth came to light. And so the charade continued. It was a cowardly move, but Oikawa would call it self-preservation.</p>
<p>It was ironic that Iwaizumi turned out to be the same as him and his fears were founded on a fake reality.</p>
<p>Oikawa sets the conch seashell on the resin dish and slings the assault rifle back into his hands, walking out of the room. It’s probably too late to stop now and Oikawa’s never quite learnt how to stop anyway, so he’ll hold out until the end. Maybe he’ll let Iwaizumi finish this instead, because when he sieves through the web of lies he finds one unwavering truth—that he can try to hurt and to maim, but it is his very antithesis to see to the death of Iwaizumi Hajime.</p>
<p>Besides, to be killed by his hands may not be a bad way to go.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sometime during Oikawa’s sweep of the second floor, Iwaizumi is in their garage paying special attention not to make a sound as he opens the false bottom of the workbench drawer to access the only weapon he’s left in this house. He kept it in the garage if he needed a weapon and a quick getaway and it was his idea of not keeping all your eggs in one basket, although the other basket (read: unsparingly emptied weapon room) had an impressive number of eggs. In any case, he’s not entirely defenceless now, somewhat of a relief since he’s certain Oikawa’s armed himself with the arsenal he has at his disposal.</p>
<p>The drawer holds a black case that Iwaizumi clicks open, and an exquisite revolver is nestled in its foam padding, along with an extra cylinder of .357 Magnum bullets. It’s a classic Colt Python, the stainless-steel barrel shiny from unuse and the wood grip feeling solid in Iwaizumi’s hand. He’s fond of his trusty Beretta, but when it comes to revolvers, Iwaizumi’s loyalty lies with the Colt and he will argue that the Python is the finest revolver ever made.</p>
<p>It sits comfortably in his palm but the reason Iwaizumi’s staring at its frame is not to admire its superior fit and finish but because he’s captivated by the characters engraved into its barrel. On the length of the metal are his and Oikawa’s first names etched into the surface, a representation of a union and a belief he wishes to abide by.</p>
<p>He wants to be dauntless—not for himself, but for them, and he engraved these characters into the Python a while after they got married because even if he loses everything, he never wants to forget this, that if were to use this gun he would use it for them. This was before he was dealt the Joker of the deck of course. Yet, his oldest sentiments have never truly left him, and the union of their names triggers a memory that has been collecting dust in his mind, though it remains a treasured one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had been an idyllic late morning, the hands of the clock almost touching twelve. They slept in, having exhausted themselves after a night of raking in winnings at the casino. Lady Luck was smiling upon them apparently, since they had favourable hands and a winning streak at the luck-based games. With the added advantage of their hard-to-tell bluffs and aptitude in reading both the game and the people, what was originally an indulgent night turned out to be both that <em>and</em> lucrative.</p>
<p>By the end of their escapade, they were stumbling back to Iwaizumi’s apartment, pockets full of cash and hands full of each other, mouths giggling and greedy. Their eventful night continued in the sheets and come morning, they were tangled in each other, the risen sun warming their bare skin adorned with the handiwork of a passionate lover.</p>
<p>When Iwaizumi awoke, he did not find Oikawa next to him in the rumpled sheets, though he had a rough idea where he might be. He found him in the balcony a while later as he had expected, dressed in an oversized tee and a pair of cotton pants, a cup of coffee in his hands. Oikawa could hear the slide of the balcony door and greeted Iwaizumi with a lazy smile as he joined him with a cup of his own.</p>
<p>“Nice bed head,” Iwaizumi remarked with a smirk as he balanced his cup on the ledge. Oikawa’s hair was messier than usual, and he had a cowlick that stuck up at an odd angle. There was a time when he’d never let Iwaizumi see him in any state less than perfect but now, he’d wake up in his birthday suit with minimal fuss knowing that Iwaizumi would call him beautiful anyway.</p>
<p>“Nice hickey,” Oikawa shot back, pointedly staring at the love mark—<em>his</em> mark—decorating the base of Iwaizumi’s neck. It was a lovely shade of red and Oikawa could almost shiver when he thought about Iwaizumi’s hands sliding over his thighs and up his sides as he sucked a bruise into his skin.</p>
<p>The other man rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He would think Oikawa sported a smattering of bruises probably around his hips, since he hadn’t exactly been gentle when he was taking him from behind. But he let the comment slide, instead favouring to stand beside Oikawa on his balcony, nursing a good ole cup of joe as they watched the busy city go about their day.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi stayed on the upper floors of the high-rise apartment and looking out from the balcony offered them a clear view of the sky with grey clouds rolling in the distance and tiny figures flittering on the streets.</p>
<p>“What should we do with our winnings?” Oikawa asked, tone light as if he might be talking about how it seemed like it was about to rain.</p>
<p>“You’re the expert on finances. What do you think we should do?” Iwaizumi asked back and Oikawa hummed a little sound of protest.</p>
<p>“Okay, but that aside, don’t you just want to spend it however you like, instead of doing something boring like invest?” he suggested, tilting his head purposefully at Iwaizumi who raised a brow and rested an elbow on the ledge to face him.</p>
<p>“You sound like you have something in mind.”</p>
<p>Oikawa broke into a delightful smile as he said, “I was thinking we can do up the balcony,” and swept his gaze across the area, “There’s enough space to put a swing chair here and I know we can’t really see stars in the city, but I thought it’d be a nice touch for when we have time to just…be with each other.” His eyes were bright when he added, “Or how about a home theatre system? Those alien-kaijuu movies look so much cooler with that.”</p>
<p>It was only after he said that and pictured them in his head that he realized how very domestic it all was. But Oikawa supposed it was because he was already thinking of a life with him. It was an easy thing to fall into, wanting to wake up next to Iwaizumi and fall asleep curved against him and soon, he was building a home where Iwaizumi was, and he wanted more of it.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi was no different. Something about the way Oikawa said it—genuine and sure and hopeful—made his heart swell, but he kept his quiet mirth under a faint smile.</p>
<p>“That sounds nice. We can also get that coffee machine you’ve been eyeing. So we have something other than instant coffee to drink.”</p>
<p>Oikawa regarded him equally softly, “Your instant coffee’s not bad, especially when you make it for me, but I’d like that.”</p>
<p>For a moment Iwaizumi was reminded of that morning in Havana, when Oikawa was wrapped in sheets and stood against the sunlight with a mariposa tucked behind his ear, the loveliest view Iwaizumi ever had the pleasure of seeing. Now, Oikawa was dressed in loose clothes and wore his bed head proudly and the sky was slowly turning grey, but all Iwaizumi could think of was how he looked as beautiful as the day he met him.</p>
<p>He knew wanted this—days with Oikawa for as long as he was allowed—but what did a killer like him know about taking care of another life? With Oikawa, he thought he could try. He was certain enough to try. He wanted everything with him. He wanted him wholly.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi broke the silence to say, quiet but sure, “I want to marry you one day.”</p>
<p>It made Oikawa widen his eyes a fraction and he blinked in surprise. But once the words sunk in, what else could he do but return Iwaizumi’s gaze with the same conviction? So he said—and Iwaizumi remembers this with startling clarity—</p>
<p>“Why not make it today?”</p>
<p>Iwaizumi took a while longer to register the question, looking more shocked than Oikawa was.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Despite dropping something so disarming, Oikawa was calm as he explained, “You said you want to marry me, and I think today’s as good a day as any. Because what does it matter if it’s today, or a week later, or a year later?” He shrugs, since facts were just like that, indisputable. “It’s always been you.”</p>
<p>Oikawa waited patiently for Iwaizumi to understand that he was serious and once he did, he could only drop his gaze with a chuckle. He couldn’t trust Oikawa to whip up a consistently edible dish of <em>shogayaki</em> but he could trust him to make one of the most heartfelt declarations in unassuming moments like this. Iwaizumi looked up and locked eyes with Oikawa to say with fond exasperation, “We don’t even have rings.”</p>
<p>Oikawa’s cinnamon-coloured eyes gleamed, “Then let’s go get them.”</p>
<p>“Like right now?”</p>
<p>“I’m ready whenever you are,” he answered, undaunted.</p>
<p>The sentiment was infectious, and Iwaizumi surged forward to kiss Oikawa right then and there, sliding his palm along the line of his jaw. It was chaste, and it tasted of coffee and they could feel the other smiling against their lips—bittersweet.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi broke away but moved in a mere second later to peck him once more, the touch of pink on pink making a tiny sound. He watched Oikawa wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before meeting his bright, hazel eyes and said, “I think I know a place.”</p>
<p>Perhaps it had been too reckless when they promised their lives to each other on the balcony in their sleeping clothes, but when Iwaizumi led them through the old town of Yanaka to a quaint little store that supposedly sold jewellery off the beaten path and paid the aged owner to forge a pair of rings with their winnings, it felt right.</p>
<p>By then it had been raining, and the grey-haired shopkeeper shot them a dirty look for dripping puddles in his store but otherwise took their money and ring sizes before shuffling to the back. He had regarded Iwaizumi with squinty eyes that harboured a hint of recognition but one apprising look from the Kita Dai agent told him that this had nothing to do with his profession though he’d prefer if he accorded the task with as much diligence.</p>
<p>With their newly forged rings they decided to hold a ceremony just because they can. They might be killers, but this was one thing in their lives that they did right, so surely the gods would pardon this? Even if they didn’t, they didn’t care. They turned up at the shrine and implored the priest to accept their request despite nearing its closing hours and the priest, kind and ignorant, acceded.</p>
<p>Seeing as they were soaked, the shrine helpers even loaned them each a set of <em>montsuki kimono</em> and they were both giddy with the spontaneity of it all as they sipped from the three cups of <em>sake</em> and slipped the golden bands onto their fingers, sheltered from the damp earth outside and unjudged for their sins.</p>
<p>It was shortly after this that Iwaizumi bought the Colt Python and engraved their names into the metal. And it was only a matter of time before their luck ran out, before they could no longer spin lies from old spindles or find any more places to hide their secrets. They had finally reached the end of the line where lies were unravelled and secrets were spilled and maybe this was their punishment—to be brought as each other’s executioner.</p>
<p>But even as the role fell onto his shoulders, Iwaizumi didn’t think he could do it. He thought he could do his job—he was a better killer than he was a lover after all—but it was high time he admitted that Oikawa was never simply a name on a hit list, never just an assignment to be done and dusted. He was the hearth in his heart and the song in his veins—he still is.</p>
<p>With a hollowness in his chest, he clicks the Colt’s cylinder back into place and leaves the garage.</p>
<p>The garage is connected to the foyer where the ceiling is open to the second floor. Iwaizumi checks the staircase before pointing his gun upwards, but he doesn’t catch a single movement in the shadows. Deciding to clear out this floor first, he presses close to the walls as he treads carefully through the living room, his mind and body already on alert. His footsteps hardly make a sound as he nears the dining room, also empty, and just as he’s about to turn around the corner into the kitchen, Iwaizumi hears the tell-tale click of a weapon from behind.</p>
<p>“Not even an ‘I’m home’,” Oikawa says disappointedly before he squeezes the trigger and fires a rain of bullets in Iwaizumi’s direction.</p>
<p>It comes out muffled with the suppressor installed and Iwaizumi barely misses being caught in a carnage like a ragdoll as he dives into the kitchen. Oikawa makes a sound of annoyance although it sounds almost pleased, swivelling from the foot of the stairs to march through their foyer and living room towards a cornered Iwaizumi, and drops the empty magazine onto the floor to load a new one with a satisfying click.</p>
<p>He rounds into the kitchen and Iwaizumi doesn’t even have the chance to aim his Colt at Oikawa. He only swings open the fridge door to use as a shield as Oikawa starts spraying bullets into the metal, creating indents into the expensive steel. He covers his head and ducks down to hide behind the island with a “fuck!” as the heavy fire splinters the wood from their shelves and shatters their kitchenware, glass shards and broken fittings flying everywhere. He is certain Oikawa has utterly ruined their immaculate island by puncturing bullet holes into the Carrara marble.</p>
<p>Not so much of a prized possession anymore it seems.</p>
<p>Wanting to return the warm welcome, Iwaizumi takes a risk and points his gun over the island, firing aimlessly with the hope that it’ll make Oikawa retreat. The second Oikawa spots the muzzle, he whirls out of its line of fire, dodging behind a wall so that Iwaizumi shoots at nothing instead. When it clicks emptily, Iwaizumi pulls out the full cylinder from his jacket to reload with practised ease.</p>
<p>“You’re not very good with a gun are you, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa mocks loudly over his shoulder, releasing the empty magazine from the rifle with a jerk of his hand.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi growls at Oikawa’s antagonizing quips and retorts, “When you land a hit on me, then we’ll talk!” He looks around for anything else he can use to his advantage and zeroes in on the stove before scrambling over. Buying time, he adds, “Are you even trying?!”</p>
<p>The question hits a raw nerve, but Oikawa doesn’t deign to respond. He grabs the last set of cartridges from his pocket to reload, running the action of the M16 with more vehemence than necessary.</p>
<p>That’s where Iwaizumi is wrong. He wants this to end, but he won’t let it without putting up his best fight. For all the things he did not do or failed to say, the least he could do is try his damnest for their final encounter—make it all worthwhile you know? It’s some warped sense of logic, but Oikawa wants to try. For the last time, he wants to try. And when their story ends, he can say that he fought out of love, but it killed him anyway.</p>
<p>Swerving out from his spot, Oikawa instantly fires at whatever’s in sight. Except it’s an exposed gas tube pointing right back at him and the combination of gunpowder and gas triggers an explosion that sends Oikawa diving away, the rifle launching out of his hands and skidding into a corner of the living room. He curses from the unexpected blast, relieved that he jumped away in time to avoid having his face take the heat but vexed that he lost his weapon.</p>
<p>Before he can scrabble for it, he hears a yell and turns to see Iwaizumi leaping through the flames, Colt in his hands. He rolls away, narrowly evading a bullet that etches an indelible mark into their hardwood floor. Now in the dining room, Oikawa kicks out a chair, which staggers Iwaizumi only a bit. He thinks fast, knowing that his chances are slim if Iwaizumi holds on to his firearm, so he picks up another chair and flings it at Iwaizumi.</p>
<p>He dodges it, but not quite cleanly. The furniture strikes his side and Iwaizumi falls backward, the Colt flying out of his hands and into the opposite side of the living room. He makes a run for it, but the sudden <em>sching</em> beside his ear and the flash of a dagger whizzing past his periphery stops him in his tracks. A hand comes up to touch his ear as he turns to face Oikawa, and there is a wetness on his fingers that dyes the tips in crimson.</p>
<p>Oikawa pulls out another dagger from his thigh holster, camouflaged against his black pants. Glancing, Iwaizumi counts two more small daggers strapped to his other thigh and will bet that Oikawa has a couple more secured behind his back. They may be small, but those needle point blades are deadly. One strike will give Oikawa the opening he needs to gain the upper hand. There’s a challenging glint in his eyes as his fingers flirt with the grip of another dagger, readying.</p>
<p>But Iwaizumi is not handicapped, not yet. His sharp green eyes flit to their sideboard cabinet, where his custom-made <em>katana</em> beckons. Oikawa follows his gaze but isn’t quick enough to intercept when Iwaizumi snatches the sword from its stand and draws its blade. The metal glares where it catches the moonlight and the corner of Oikawa’s lip curls into an annoyed smirk.</p>
<p>“Just because it’s long doesn’t mean it’s better,” Oikawa remarks crudely.</p>
<p>“Are you going to start lecturing me about technique?” Iwaizumi returns, tightening his grip on the hilt.</p>
<p>“No,” he says tersely. “There’s no <em>point</em>.”</p>
<p>As the last word is uttered, Oikawa throws the dagger at Iwaizumi, who reacts swiftly to parry it. The weapon flies to the side but another one comes almost instantaneously, and another, and another. When those are blocked with nimble slices and just as Iwaizumi predicts, Oikawa reaches behind his back and withdraws two more blades, hurling them at him with brutal speed. Iwaizumi deflects each one with deftness, metal ringing against metal until Oikawa exhales heavily before him, supply exhausted and completely unarmed.</p>
<p>He refuses to be outdone yet. Iwaizumi can only watch in carefully concealed bewilderment as Oikawa reaches for his belt and unbuckles it quickly, whipping it out of the loops. His suspicions are confirmed when Oikawa holds both ends of the belt and pulls it taut, knees bent in a readied stance.</p>
<p>Is he serious about using his <em>belt</em> as a weapon?</p>
<p>Iwaizumi receives his answer when Oikawa rushes at him, a simple flick of his wrist enough to whip out the belt with a heavy <em>slap</em> as it hits the air beside Iwaizumi’s face. That would have hurt like a bitch, but he can’t afford to dwell on Oikawa’s shrewdness when the brunette relentlessly lashes the belt at him, never giving him the chance to fight back, only to dodge.</p>
<p>In such close quarters, Oikawa knows he’s at a disadvantage when Iwaizumi’s wielding a sword so every move he makes is to get him out of this predicament. But Iwaizumi exploits a slight opening in Oikawa’s attacks and charges in with a vertical slash. Oikawa side-steps it in time and whips out the belt at Iwaizumi’s chest, the leather hitting his muscle with a painful sound.</p>
<p>Not a split second later, he coils the belt around Iwaizumi’s wrist and gives it a hard tug and twist, pulling out a shout from the other man’s lips. The <em>katana</em> flies out of Iwaizumi’s grip and lands on the other side of the dining room with a noisy clatter. Oikawa doesn’t allow Iwaizumi to recover as he releases the belt and kicks him square in the torso, sending him falling backwards with an unceremonious thud.</p>
<p>Oikawa uses the diversion to make a dash for the Colt that’s lying in the living room, needing it to end this once and for all. But Iwaizumi grabs his ankle and Oikawa crashes to the floor, biting out an expletive as his arms bear the brunt of his fall. He turns onto his back and kicks at Iwaizumi with his free leg, forcing him to let go.</p>
<p>Catching sight of the rifle that he lost, Oikawa scrambles up to race towards it but Iwaizumi is fast, going after him and sliding across the floor to boot the rifle out of Oikawa’s hands. It spins away worthlessly, stopping some metres from the Colt.</p>
<p>Oikawa immediately pounces on Iwaizumi by straddling his hips, resorting to his bare fists and packing punch after punch at him, who takes a couple to his cheek when their position denies him leeway. When Oikawa draws him arm back for another one, Iwaizumi seizes him by the inside of his elbow to stop it and plants his other hand on Oikawa’s neck, using the angle to shove him away and flip them over.</p>
<p>He has Oikawa pinned to the ground now, but the persistent agent fists a hand in the front of his shirt and yanks him down so that he can’t land a blow on him. Oikawa traps him by wrapping his arm around Iwaizumi’s nape and locking his ankles behind his back. It’s suffocating and painful as Oikawa elbows him in the back repeatedly.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi releases a frustrated yell as he heaves up Oikawa’s entire weight, swinging him violently as he clings on. He charges towards a cabinet and smashes Oikawa into it, forcing him to let go with a yelp as wood and glass crack under the impact. His back throbs unpleasantly. Iwaizumi staggers away, grateful for the short reprieve as he evens his heavy breathing.</p>
<p>“That fucking hurt,” Oikawa grits out as he lifts a dark gaze at Iwaizumi, fingers clenched over the broken edge of the cabinet.</p>
<p>“It’s meant to.”</p>
<p>“It still surprises me how you can be so cruel.”</p>
<p>“You tried to kill me!” Iwaizumi barks, appalled that Oikawa has the gall to say that about him when he sent him plunging to his death earlier this morning.</p>
<p>“You tried to kill me first!” Oikawa shouts back and Iwaizumi wants to tell him that it was an accident, that when had he ever been serious about hurting him, but Oikawa launches himself from the cabinet and pitches a vase at him.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi takes it with his elbow, which is better than taking it anywhere else, and before he can anticipate Oikawa’s next attack, he smashes a photo frame into Iwaizumi’s head, raining glass onto the floor as he stumbles away in shock. Oikawa doesn’t let him regain his balance before he’s ambushing him again, flinging the both of them onto the couch and striking him with a series of blows that grows frenzied with every hit.</p>
<p>They lack technique and form, and Iwaizumi easily stops his assault, toppling them onto the ground noisily. The scuffle—and everything before that if they’re being thorough—takes a toll on them, and they clamber away from each other to catch their breaths.</p>
<p>Chest rising with every inhale, they stare as intensely as the other, hair tousled and clothes in a mess. Some time ago, this would have been a familiar sight, except without the blood trickling down their temple and arms. But this is where their mistakes have led them—standing across each other in the wreck of their home.</p>
<p>They wonder if they can be lovers and enemies all at once.</p>
<p>They wonder if they were always meant for this.</p>
<p>For a story where the one who lives is not the one who wins.</p>
<p>The Colt and rifle lie a few metres behind the couch and their gazes flicker to the weapons at the same time, an identical thought occurring to them. The moment their eyes meet again they act on it as swiftly as lightning, vaulting over the couch to reach for the guns.</p>
<p>There is a clatter of metal and the cocking of a gun and Iwaizumi and Oikawa find themselves trapped in a mirrored image, arms outstretched with a loaded weapon and muzzles pointed at their chests.</p>
<p>Their breathing comes out uneven, fingers quivering over the trigger but neither making a move to squeeze it. Time freezes and it feels so much like the moment when the truth came crashing down—heartrending and helpless.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi can’t look away from Oikawa, whose hazel eyes are stricken in spite of—or perhaps because of—the weapon in his hands. God, even now—anguished and fatal—he is beautiful. There is nothing in the world that could compare to the portrait that Oikawa paints, ineffable and so very <em>him</em>. And Iwaizumi is filled to the deepest depths with adoration.</p>
<p>In the face of Oikawa’s affliction, a strange quietness settles within him. It is an inexplicable feeling, because defeat should never feel so calming.</p>
<p>Oikawa can tell that he is giving in. Iwaizumi’s eyes have lost its hardness and the Colt tips the barest inch. Of all the times they’ve went at each other’s throats, how dare he give in now?</p>
<p>It’s not supposed to be like this. Oikawa cannot bring himself to pull the trigger if Iwaizumi doesn’t do it first. It’s not supposed to be like this.</p>
<p>Yet, Iwaizumi gazes at him with the tenderest expression and his grip loosens on the Colt. Oikawa lets out a fractured exhale.</p>
<p>“Don’t!” he begs, heart twisting. He feels something crack. Something in his exterior, something in his heart. “<em>Don’t!</em>”</p>
<p>Oikawa looks torn, and it breaks Iwaizumi’s heart. He can’t take the shot now, just like he couldn’t take it the first time, because he has always been in love with Oikawa Tooru, the one inexorable truth among the lies.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi shakes his head gently.</p>
<p>“I can’t do it,” he whispers. He lowers his arm, the revolver falling to his side before he drops it completely.</p>
<p>In front of him, the muzzle trembles.</p>
<p>“You hate me Hajime,” Oikawa says, pained, and it sounds like a plea.</p>
<p>“I could never hate you,” Iwaizumi tells him and he knows it in his soul. “I just hate that we fell apart,” he adds, infinitely lighter without the weight of his gun or the weight of his lies.</p>
<p>He steps forward, pressing the muzzle of Oikawa’s gun into his beating heart as if saying, <em>‘Here’s my heart—take it, for it’s already yours.’</em></p>
<p>Oikawa drops the rifle to the ground and takes his lips instead.</p>
<p>He kisses him urgently, desperation and longing breaking out of him in a cloudburst, and Iwaizumi meets him with a fierceness that heals as much as it bruises. Their hands reach out eagerly, fingers digging into their napes and tugging at whatever they can touch, flushed skin and messy hair. Their kisses are hurried and fervent, both of them feeling so hot with want because they’ve been going around in circles missing each other and now that they’ve laid out all their cards, there is nothing to stop them anymore.</p>
<p>Iwaizumi backs Oikawa up, his hungry mouth never leaving his for long, until Oikawa’s back hits the nearest wall and he gasps in surprise. Iwaizumi’s tongue finds his without hesitation, and Oikawa shudders with a frisson of excitement from the wet heat in his mouth.</p>
<p>It’s short-lived when Iwaizumi pulls away suddenly to scrabble at Oikawa’s clothes and he does the same, having an easier time yanking Iwaizumi’s shirt over his head while the other agent struggles with the first two buttons then simply rips open the shirt. He surges forward to kiss Oikawa again, burning for the taste of him, and grinds his hips against him.</p>
<p>The friction is delightful and makes them groan, their growing interest showing in the tightness of their pants. It’s not enough—after enduring what they have, after holding back from what has always been theirs—this is not going to be enough. Oikawa wants more—greedy kisses and searing touches, just more of Iwaizumi—as much as he can give him and it is more than Oikawa thinks he ever deserves.</p>
<p>But Iwaizumi proves him wrong with kisses steeped in passion, driven by a profoundness he’s sure he cannot feel with anyone else. He lifts Oikawa up onto his hips and the other man crosses his ankles behind his back, head dipping low to mark Iwaizumi’s neck as he supports him by the back of his thighs and finds the nearest soft surface.</p>
<p>They obviously don’t make it to their bedroom upstairs. Iwaizumi throws Oikawa onto the couch, ironically where they grappled minutes before, and sinks his knees into the furniture, straddling him. They remove their clothes hastily, tossing them to join the mess they’ve made in their living room until they’re bare and unabashed.</p>
<p>Oikawa lays before him, a blush high on his cheeks and his toned chest rising with every heavy breath, and Iwaizumi has missed this. He has missed the lustful gaze of russet eyes, the kissed-swollen lips shiny with spit, and the sheen of perspiration that makes Oikawa’s skin glow, except this time and for the first time, Oikawa is stripped in every sense of the word.</p>
<p>There are a hundred things he can say to Oikawa—that he’s gorgeous and he’ll keep saying it for as long as it is true, that he never meant to hurt him at all and he’s sorry he did, that maybe even people like them have second chances because loving him feels so right it couldn’t have been a mistake. There are so many things he can say, but he doesn’t.</p>
<p>Words are for later. Now, he gives it to him the way he wants it, hard and fast and rough. Iwaizumi leaves bruising marks across his skin, strokes him until he’s achingly hard, and works him open with a clever tongue and deft fingers. He shows Oikawa that he remembers how to make him moan and shiver and gasp, body arching into his touch like it offers redemption.</p>
<p>And Oikawa takes it ardently, perfectly—with only Iwaizumi’s name upon his lips. As he clings onto him and trembles from the rawness of their reunion, Oikawa knows—without a shadow of doubt—that Iwaizumi truly is his undoing.</p>
<p>So maybe he was always meant for two things—to kill without fear, and to love Iwaizumi Hajime, the man who holds his tainted heart and doesn’t make it good but takes it wholly and loves him in absolutes.</p>
<p>So maybe this is who they are—trained to kill but made to love.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>